


thesaurum venari; ATEEZ

by arrowthroughtheheart



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, But maybe not, But not mentioned explicitly, Cults, Fluff, Gen, Graphic Description, Mentioned ITZY Ensemble, Mentioned Jung Yoonoh | Jaehyun, Mentioned Other K-pop Artist(s), Non-Graphic Violence, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prophecy, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Self-Fulfilling Prophecy, Shin Ryujin - Freeform, Songfic, Suggestive Themes, Tags May Change, Treasure Hunting, Violence, but not really, but not really since i'm trying to not offend anyone, lowkey inspired by a movie, no beta we die like atiny(s), omg is that too spoilery, triggering content, why is that not a tag, you gotta squint
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:34:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 42,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22877134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arrowthroughtheheart/pseuds/arrowthroughtheheart
Summary: “I’m going to find the Treasure, Seonghwa.”Seonghwa leans away, taking in every single inch he can see of Hongjoong’s face very closely, to find out if his friend is messing with him - and because looking for the Treasure can literally mean death, so, hey, if this is the last time he’s going to see Hongjoong, might as well remember the man.“Are you already plotting my murder- Jesus Christ, Seonghwa!” Hongjoong slaps a hand against his friend’s face, less lovingly than he had planned when he entered their garden a few moments ago, and Seonghwa retaliates. “Why would I if you already have a perfect suicide planned out for yourself? Dear God, Hongjoong, what is going through your mind? Are you consuming drugs? Are you consumed by drugs?”
Relationships: ATEEZ/ATEEZ, Choi Jongho/Choi San/Jeong Yunho/Jung Wooyoung/Kang Yeosang/Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa/Song Mingi, Choi Jongho/Everyone, Choi San/Kang Yeosang, Jeong Yunho/Kang Yeosang, Jung Wooyoung/Kang Yeosang, Kang Yeosang/Kim Hongjoong, Kim Hongjoong/Everyone, Kim Hongjoong/Kim Hongjoong, Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 21
Kudos: 33





	1. Intro: Long Journey

**Author's Note:**

> The prophecy said this;  
> "About one and the other - though one will rise further than the other, and the rest of the world will follow. About one among all the others, about those who will lead the way, those who will not be blinded by the dazzling lights and the fever dreams. About the one that would seize the opportunity, and the more than one that will finally be one, the day will come when it will finally crumble."  
> "But fear not if the one that is the one failed, for there is a balance in life and that balance will forever persevere. That balance may cut, as deep as one's soul and it may come as a force too strong for one to resist - which is why it is a curse; a misfortune. One will fulfill it. Only one will."

Hongjoong coughs into his hand, shivering as an after-impact of the constant beating he endured as the unavoidable result of a disagreement dire enough to affect the life or death situation in the world he’s living in. There’s blood coming out of his bruised lungs, he assumed he won’t last any longer if he keeps this up, but there’s also no way in hell he’s about to give up. The creature in front of him stares down at his tiny, pitiful form in mock concern -  _ at least, according to Hongjoong  _ \- and he heard a disdainful scoff. Once again, according to Hongjoong.

“We don’t have to keep doing this, young one,” the man tries for the n-th time that day, to break down Hongjoong’s well-known perseverance. “You should know,  _ we  _ have personally seen the effects it had on us. We acted like fools, had the world turn upon us as we failed to save them because we promised to get rid of the world’s suffering- we have been through it all.”

“You don’t know for sure,” Hongjoong grits his teeth, grimacing as he tastes the coppery tinge of his own blood. “Maybe you gave up before you’ve seen it all?”

The man rolls his eyes, tugging at his own hair. “Maybe,” he concludes, and for a second, Hongjoong thought he’d won the argument; which would mean he’ll stop taking a beating or try to beat the other up. “But you, my friend,  _ all  _ of you,” the man continues, “you’re all still very precious to the  _ Treasure. _ ”

Hongjoong stills, making sure that he stands his ground. “W-what do you mean?”

“I mean what I said,'' the man sports a smile, and for the first time since he’s met the other, Hongjoong feels no fear towards the man who is looking back at him like he’s simply a mirror, meant to remind the other of his past.  _ There’s also the fact that the man in front of Hongjoong looks exactly  _ like  _ Hongjoong, so maybe that explains everything. _

“The  _ Treasure  _ will only attract those she deem worthy enough to destroy, my young friend. We used to have that. The worthiness. And then she got tired of us too soon. Way too soon,” there’s a hint of nostalgia in his eyes, a split second before the cold and rigid nature of his facial expression returns. “And then she got tired of us. But you best believe me in this, Kim Hongjoong; when she gets tired of her toys - the people that sailed across the seas and sacrificed almost their entire life to get to her and worship her like no other to get what they want - she lets them tumble down hill, feed them nothing but worthless anger and false accusations. She watched as they invented a witch-hunt for our names and our heads on a silver platter, and if they had succeeded in doing so, back then, she would’ve become stronger.”

“I understand,” Hongjoong mutters, wiping the blood of his chin. “I don’t trust the  _ Treasure  _ completely, either. I’m just desperate. It’s been decades and decades since people blamed you and your people over the loss of Utopia and I promise you, I tried every other tactic the world provided for me to obtain something peaceful for our country, but. . . nothing else is working. The world, it’s. . . it’s been struggling for way too long, and they’re just too far up their asses to beg for your forgiveness to have you and your people protect them again. I don’t know what else to do, Sir, and the  _ Treasure  _ is now my only hope,” he breathes in, “I’m here to humbly ask for your guidance. Please, Sir.”

“And you thought it was a good idea to summon me out here and  _ try  _ to fight me into submission while you’re under the blindfold of rage to get something out of me? Something I am very blatantly adamant on talking about?” the man frowns, but Hongjoong can’t really see him from where he’s standing, folded a half in pain and desperation. “F-for that, I beg for your apology, Sir,” Hongjoong quickly responds, just wanting to get this conversation over with since his feet is numb from the bruises littered all over them. “I didn’t mean to disrespect you and your decades of knowledge and experience, I was just-”

“Desperate, I know. You brought it up in this conversation a whole damn  _ lot _ ,” the man cuts him off, and Hongjoong cringes. 

The man lets his eyes scan Hongjoong for a short second, his head unmoving and his posture as straight as a statue. “I’ll tell you what I know,” he concludes, his nimble fingers travelling upward to pull his mask back across his face. “But I do wish that you’ll heed every warning I’m about to give you.”

Hongjoong scrambles onto his feet, hissing when his bruised ribs are exposed to the cold air of that evening but then quick to nod nonetheless. “I will, Sir, I  _ promise _ .”

The man, who is now beckoning Hongjoong over to his side, spared the young man a glance. “I’m sorry too. For hurting you. I knew no better than you did, and I was acting purely on survival instincts. One of my. . .  _ friends  _ is able to make you feel better, I assume. It’s been quite a while since he’s healed anyone, though.”

“Huh,” Hongjoong nods, chuckling. “Funny. My friend heals people, too. The village’s doctor, if you will. He’s very young to be called a doctor, and never actually had any prestigious education that would certify his knowledge, but his family and natural medication have been very good friends for a long time, now, and he’s especially good at healing people.”

The man listens quite tentatively, sporting a friendly smile at the corner of his mouth. “You should keep him close, young one. Especially when you’ve set your mind on something as dangerous as finding the Treasure.”

“Oh, no,” Hongjoong laughs at this suggestion, “I’m going on my own. I wouldn’t dare put other people in danger, especially after hearing all those things coming from you, someone who’s experienced the adventure in flesh and blood.”

“Well, that’s what I said, too,” the man nods, slinging an arm under Hongjoong’s hands to keep him up and steady while they walk through the rocky terrain, leading back to where the man is currently staying. “But then I realized that I used to not pay enough attention to the people around me who cared enough for my well-being that they’d go with me even though they might not make it back alive. I bet you have all sorts of friends as well as I do, young one.”

“Why do you keep calling me young one, Sir? You can call me Hongjoong. That’s. . . one of the main reasons why I came here shouting at the top of my lungs; ‘I am Kim Hongjoong, I’m here to look for the ones who found the Treasure.’”

The man doesn’t look at him, and Hongjoong finds that he doesn’t do so unless it’s completely necessary or if he’s asserting dominance - and he’s still walking, stable enough that Hongjoong thinks the man would let Hongjoong’s question die down just to avoid answering them. “Sir, I-”   
“Because it’s weird to say ‘Kim Hongjoong’ out loud when it’s also. . . my name. Especially after seeing you with my own eyes,” he states, eyes unmoving, still focused on their destination. The sun is beginning to set in the horizon, and Hongjoong feels his jaw hanging open. What the  _ other  _ Hongjoong said next is no medicine to his wound, though. If anything, it would tear it right open.

“Back in my days, people would still root for the time where the other half of the prophecy would be fulfilled. That one day, our other halves are about to join us in an adventure that could stop the wrath of Mother Nature from ever returning and dim the fire that has been burning for ages now. But then again - maybe we’re only a half of each other because me and my people have experienced one half of the prophecy, and you’re meant to experience the rest. Maybe you’ll see something completely different, Hongjoong,” the other heaves a sigh. “Seeing you here, existing alongside my own existence - though once, a long time ago, this moment right here is something we’ve wanted for a long time - it reminds me that we could be fine, continuing to live as different individuals and the two halves of ourselves will never work  _ together _ .”

Hongjoong doesn’t have anything to say to that. Surely enough, though, he’ll find a way to end all of  _ their  _ miseries, too. That’s just how he’s always been. That’s what he was born for, as the better part of the two individuals known as Kim Hongjoong. 

“Maybe we’ll find a way,” he mutters, feeling the other’s eyes resting upon his. “Maybe we’ll find a  _ better  _ way. A way that would work for all of us, even though it would acquire some minor sacrifices.”

He looks at the man beside him, frozen in place by something akin to interest, but he’ll never know for sure.

_ “Will you join us?” _


	2. Pirate King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet the Princes and Park Seonghwa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Utopia is this;  
> "A cloudy mirage, the dream that is found by the dreamer. The sea of fear and joy, one they dreamed about and led to by a sketched map. A world without existence itself, one that can only be found after a lengthy climb. Hidden in the clouds, fogged up by the treasure, it's existence was found, but then it slipped from their fingertips. Do not stop when the thirst of the youth is still present, do not stop even when the laughter turned into balls of fire. Every day, every night."

Kim Hongjoong is an educated young man, born and raised in the middle of a country that is drowned by the sorrows and victories of war, not ever taking a break to breathe in between one war and the other. Hongjoong is some lucky young man, though, since his father sits comfortably in one of the high seats (he learned that this means that his father is important, not that he’s actually sitting on a high seat, though young Hongjoong ran here and there to try and find the highest seat possible in his father’s office from time to time) of the Kingdom, one where he has to fight for the country every now and then, but never put in the front line of any danger.

His status gave Hongjoong the title of ‘Prince’, and he’s one in between four other young men with the title of Prince - including himself - and one, very influential woman referred to most of the time as Lady Haseul. The five of them are very good childhood friends, though the other four can argue that Hongjoong has never really acted very Prince-like and enjoyed going out to the markets filled with people of no significant importance whatsoever.

Prince Taeyong is the oldest between the five, well-known for his quite sadistic nature in terms of sparing the lives of their enemies. He gives no mercy whatsoever unless they were to lure him in with the promise of being his slave for the rest of their lives, which are a well-known tactic to escape his wrath nowadays and resulted in him having the most ‘slave’ out of the rest of them - and none of his friends dared to question him about his behaviour since he’s acted better than he used to, when he was at the young age of 12-and-a-half. We do not talk about young Prince Taeyong, for it ignites fear in most citizens’ hearts. He’s a very good big brother figure to Hongjoong, though, and has never done anything wrong  _ to  _ him particularly, though Hongjoong has countless questions about Taeyong’s basic moral standards.

Lady Haseul is the second oldest, and though she’s absent most of the times since her brain is used to strategize their country’s every move, (Hongjoong once guessed that she isn’t really fond of being in the middle of the four Prince’s argument everyday, and even  _ he  _ understood that) is one of the most influential individual in the middle of all of them. She taught them how to dance in a formal party, how to politely decline an offer, since, one usually just scoffs and walk away and the other would over-excitedly explain their reasons for one and a half hours and the rest would just freeze like a statue, and once, she even taught them how to properly court a lady, if ever needed. None of that was useful, of course, since the Princes are tangled in actually fighting alongside their soldiers most of the time - but they enjoyed her presence nonetheless. Especially when she brought them her handmade cookies. Hongjoong personally loved the cookies.

Prince Bangchan is only two months younger than Lady Haseul, which resulted in him being the closest to her, emotionally. He’s also depended on for his entirely maximum capability of doing everything and anything in the best way possible, but even then, they place him alongside Taeyong in every situation just because he looks the strongest out of all the Princes. (Hongjoong personally thinks that Haseul  _ could  _ beat all of them up if she wants to, but she loves them too much to do that, and he counts that as a win).

Hongjoong is a Prince, too, one that the people deem most similar to Taeyong in some occasions - like the way they look and act, sometimes, or just the way they talk in general, but Hongjoong personally thinks that it’s because they both look small and fragile out of their armors but could crack every bone in your body nonetheless. Since Hongjoong is fresh out of school, he doesn’t really have anything to do either than fight in some small, not-so-dangerous post war discussions if it gets heated -  _ since it does that, a lot  _ \- and train their youngest Prince.

Prince Soobin is the youngest, though the one with the title ‘Prince’ the longest. He was the one who took the King’s interest, since his son, also known as the actual prince, died. Technically, Soobin invented the titles that are now given to Taeyong, Bangchan, Hongjoong, and also Haseul, but this fact doesn’t really alter the flow of this particular story, so I will leave it at that. For being the King’s favourite, Soobin never really had to go to an actual, dangerous warzone like his older friends had to when they were his age, hence why he’s always sessioned to listen to either Taeyong or Bangchan’s experiences when they come home from a victorious war (though Taeyong talks better when they  _ lost  _ since he has a lot of things to be disappointed about).

But this time, after Hongjoong returned to his dormitory, alive and well though limping a little bit here and there - he doesn’t really expect Taeyong to be waiting for him in the middle of the living room, on his way to blow the light off of one candle. His eyebrows are knit together in confusion and worry that he’s trying to cover, but Taeyong has never been one to try and stop someone eagerly just because his emotions got the best of him. He’s always so calm and collected, poised like a wise big-eyed owl that knows it  _ all  _ without having to ask anyone anything, and that intimidated the life out of Hongjoong.

He stood still, ignoring the fact that the bandages around his ribs and neck are well-exposed and Taeyong doesn’t even need to squint his eyes to see the damage Hongjoong took upon his own body. The older scanned him for a while, and Hongjoong is reminded of his earlier encounter.

“I know what the prophecy said,” Taeyong states, his voice void of any emotion and instead feels dry as a sandpaper. He’s still looking at Hongjoong, his coat hanging off his shoulders that are slumped in fatigueness. (Hongjoong  _ hopes  _ that it is fatigue that is causing Taeyong to slump that way, because if he’s sad for Hongjoong, his dreams are going to be pathetically over before it even started).

“I know what you’re set out to do, too,” the older continues, his eyes now travelling elsewhere. There’s a glint of something quite unreadable in his eyes, and it grew bolder with the dancing flames of the last candle reflected on them. “Is there. . .” Taeyong trails off, scratching the back of his very much, not itchy neck. “Is there anything that irrelevant Lee Taeyong can do to stop you from embarking on this long journey?”

Hongjoong squints his eyes. He’s never seen Taeyong  _ this  _ unsure of himself.

“You’re not irrelevant. Not at all. I deem you very important and I hold you close to my heart, Taeyong,  _ all of you _ ,” Hongjoong whispers, caught by the atmosphere of that night; the rain softly hitting the roof of their wide and unoccupied living room and the light in most rooms being close to non-existent, almost swallowed by the darkness of the night. “But no. There’s nothing you can do to stop me from doing what I feel most right.”

Taeyong doesn’t nod, doesn’t move. He’s just standing there, rigid and void of any emotions while looking at the floor in between the two of them.

“I’m not really content with the constant disagreement we have with the people all around us, and how they’ll lead to a never ending war waged by none other than our people. I’m not even sure they meant to do good things, anymore, and I’ve been drowning in self-guilt and anxiety when I know for sure that prophecy is about  _ me _ , Taeyong. Well not  _ only  _ me, but I guess I’m one of them,” Hongjoong continues, exposing the loose sleeve to show the older his wrist. “What’s with the compass tattoo?” Taeyong asks, raising an eyebrow. “It tells me where to go. It’s been telling me where to go since I was a child, and it used to point me to  _ here _ , to where we are right now,” was Hongjoong’s respond.

“But it’s no longer pointing here,” he continues, letting his eyes gloss over Taeyong, who is very intently looking at the part of the compass that is sure to be pointing somewhere else, anywhere else, just not here. Hongjoong sighs. “Listen, I know it sounds crazy, since you’re not one to believe about the prophecies and whatnot, but I’m 100% positive about doing this. I’ve even met someone who’s been through the same exact prophecy, but they failed, and even then this could be our last hope-”

“The founders of Utopia,” Taeyong cuts him off, eyes distant. Hongjoong stops his nervous rambling, choosing to hum instead. “You’ve met them. The ones who found Utopia,” the older continues, pursing his lips. “The Utopia they found was the farthest they’ve gone, Hongjoong. The prophecy said it itself, the Treasure was different for each individual. What if you find something even more disappointing than the Utopia? What if you find something  _ dangerous _ ?” Taeyong’s questions could’ve felt intrusive, but since he said it in the calmest voice Hongjoong has heard him talk in, he doesn’t feel as aggravated as he would be.

Hongjoong shrugs.

“Then the country would be glad that  _ I  _ found it, and not you.”

Taeyong rolls his eyes, harmless. “Don’t say things like that as if the world thinks of you with disdain, Hongjoong. You know for a fact that the people love you more than they love the rest of us, simply for the fact that you help them out in the market almost every day, looking for fish and fresh loaves of bread.”

“Heh. The rest of you went out there to protect our people from enemies  _ outside  _ of our country, I try protecting people who are tortured even inside their own. Same difference,” Hongjoong smiles.

“I know, Hongjoong. I never said you weren’t a noble man.”

“Neither have I about you, Taeyong.”

They just stood there, looking at each other before Hongjoong heaves a heavy sigh. “I’m going to miss your overly-competitive energy,” he mumbles, letting his arms crush Taeyong in a bone-crushing hug which made the older dramatically gasp in faux asphyxiation. “No use fretting about things like that. You’ll find someone who’ll live up to me. And even more, I assume. Someone who would run with you, though maybe not at  _ your  _ pace, and you’ll maybe have to learn to stay by their side - but you’ll thank them, one day. And maybe that same day, you’ll finally realize that you’ve found your treasure,” Taeyong claps at his back a little too hard, separating them by force, “and then you’ll realize I was right all along. That is, if you still remember me after all those years.”

“Hey,  _ you  _ have to stop the habit of talking as if you don't matter,” Hongjoong kicks the older’s shin playfully, a pout adorning his lips. “I’ll have to give it to you. Although that final smack  _ did  _ hurt, I almost cried from the speech alone,” he nods, and Taeyong mirrors him as a response. Sometimes Hongjoong questions the two of them and why they never cried before, no matter the circumstances, but he isn’t hoping for that to change just because he’s leaving, non-officially. He’s just glad Taeyong isn’t overly strict about his pessimistic nature about the  _ Treasure,  _ and that he lets Hongjoong makes decisions he thinks are the best. “Soobin and Bangchan will do all the crying for us, I’m sure. I’ll tell them that you’re gone for good when I’m sure you’re far enough from their reach since I know you’re not strong-willed enough to reject both of their teary-eyed proposals, so they’ll hate me for keeping a secret instead,” Taeyong concludes, playing with the hem of his shirt to avoid looking at Hongjoong. They’re always like this.

“And Haseul?”

Taeyong smiles, though bitterly. “She. . .” he trails off, stepping closer to Hongjoong. “Haseul was the one who ‘accidentally’ left the book with the prophecy in your room. She’d be proud of you for taking a step forward,” Taeyong tilts his head, “maybe.”

Hongjoong was left with his jaw hanging for the second time this day, and he stops himself seconds away from throwing a tantrum. “I- Alright,” he clears his throat, “I- uh. Maybe I’ll get ready. I should. . . be gone before the sunrise. Don’t want anyone to  _ see  _ me sneak away,” he continues chuckling nervously, and Taeyong motions for him to go right ahead with both of his arms raised nonchalantly. 

“I’ll just be here,” Taeyong lifts his shoulders, “pretending like I know nothing.”

*

Hongjoong leaves the living room with a heart heavier than ever - one he’d never thought he’ll experience. On a whim, he hugged Taeyong one last time before he retreats into the darkness of their hallway, and if his heart broke when he heard something akin to a sob coming from where Taeyong was sitting when he sneaks outside to proceed with his plan, he’ll store it in the back of his mind. He entered Bangchan and Soobin’s shared room, too, finding that the two are already dead asleep with their signature snores and sometimes mumbles. Hongjoong left a few things for them in his room, somewhere they’re not going to check for at least another week since Hongjoong usually just goes places without informing them, something that would usually piss Taeyong off because  _ he’d _ have to take over Hongjoong’s chores instead. 

He cradled Bangchan’s face for a few seconds instead, debating or not he should leave him a little goodbye peck and deciding, ‘Why not? I do it to Soobin all the time, anyway,’ before proceeding to do the same to Soobin. 

And then his mind conjured up the image of Haseul, who lives a few houses away from them with her family, and then Taeyong - who he hugged two times already, but why would it hurt anyone if he gives him a little friendly peck, too?

Hongjoong left his bundles by the window, making sure his footsteps aren’t heard by his sleeping friends before he returns to the living room, where Taeyong is now standing, looking down the other hallway with eyes as big as saucers. When Hongjoong approaches him with a little smile, the older responds with a confused frown. “Hongjoong?” he whispers, “Your father  _ just  _ arrived in his office, he’s right across from us right now. I thought you left-”   
_ “Kid!”  _ Hongjoong’s father called for none other than Taeyong from inside a room with the only light source spilling out of the half-opened door, and Taeyong turns around to answer him. “O-on my way, Sir!” he responds, and shortly after that he looks back at Hongjoong. “If you want to leave tonight, you better hurry, okay? I don’t know if your father would be very happy about your decision-”

Hongjoong pulled the older’s head down, and with his determination written across his face, he lands a soft kiss on Taeyong’s forehead. That cuts Taeyong’s speech for sure, and he stares at the younger, confused. “Bye!” Hongjoong giggles, almost excitedly sprinting away from the living room, his cheeks burning with shame. Taeyong watches the younger disappear into the darkness of the hallway, keeping an ear out to find out if the younger made some suspicious noises by mistake, and heard nothing.

He shrugs, turning around once he remembers the fact that he’s summoned by Mr. Kim. 

“Sir? What can I do to assist you?”

Hongjoong purses his lips, standing in front of a very torn-down cottage. He’s never been allowed to come by Seonghwa’s place before, another childhood-friend he had from travelling here and there across the marketplace. Seonghwa tended to his wounds when little Hongjoong decided to be haughty and jumped over his dormitory’s fence just for  _ fun  _ \- which turned out not fun at all, you know, when he landed with his feet twisted onto each other and he heard something crack - and Hongjoong shot him the question he’s asked most people right then and there, though he was still cringing from the pain and embarrassment.

_ “Seonghwa, will you be my friend?” _

11-year-old little Seonghwa nodded to Hongjoong’s friendship proposal, though Hongjoong is never sure if the other really considers him as a friend or he just acted on a natural doctor’s instinct back then, before he brought Hongjoong to his parents, who were at the time, a more trustworthy medic. 

Back to the present, though, where the door swings open with a creak and none other than the Park Seonghwa himself walks out, still dressed in what may be his pajamas and his hair wildly messed up at the top, pointing outwards to the sky. Hongjoong thanked the heavens and the living earth down below that this would make his task easier, but also a little more nerve-wrecking. When he’s done with Park Seonghwa, what then?

“Hong- I mean, Prince Hongjoong? What- How do you find me? And why  _ are  _ you here, it’s almost the middle of the night!” Seonghwa looks back inside his humble abode, uneasy. “I would. . . invite you to come in, since the air at night time is never good for your lungs, but I bet you’ve been out and about at night a lot. Am I in need of correction, Prince Hongjoong?” he talks, still in the sassy and sharp way Seonghwa has been talking in the entirety of the time they’ve known each other. He opens the gate that is surprisingly sturdy enough to reveal the little garden his family have been keeping alive for decades, and Hongjoong grins at his friend.

“You are very much correct, Seonghwa,” the solemn nod Hongjoong gave him was denied with a mindless wave of his hands, and in times like this do Hongjoong feel like Seonghwa would fit the title ‘Prince’ more than he does, but Hongjoong would never fit the title ‘Doctor’ more than Seonghwa does right now. “But what is Doctor Park himself doing outside, in the middle of the night, hm?” Hongjoong returns the question, eyes narrowed onto a peculiar flower.

“Doctor Park is my father, don’t make this conversation weirder than it should - especially with your facial expressions,” Seonghwa cuts him off, “though that  _ is  _ the only thing you’re good at doing.”

“I don’t make conversations weird, Seonghwa, you just need to pull your mind off of the gutter. Good gracious, what even is in that gutter that your brain canoodled in there for every so often?” Hongjoong shoots back, now kneeling in front of the flower. There’s a waft of scent that hits the hollow of his nose, and he thinks he’s in love. With a what? A flower. 

“My brain does  _ not  _ canoodle with anything,” Seonghwa grimaced, looking slightly offended. “And  _ don’t  _ touch the Crescent flower, we’ll have to wait until twilight to harvest them.”

Hongjoong’s brain doesn’t really comprehend anything except for the ‘twilight’ and ‘harvest’, and one of those two terms he doesn’t really get a grip of. “Right,” he mutters, “when  _ is  _ twilight, anyway? I’ve heard people use it as a fancier term of something, never really got a gist of when on earth a twilight is supposed to happen. And I’m supposed to wait for things I don’t really know about?”

“Don’t we usually wait for things  _ because  _ we’re uncertain if it’s ever going to happen, though?” Seonghwa crouches next to Hongjoong, avoiding the first question just to pick up a debate on the second question and voice his disagreement over something -  _ anything  _ \- that Hongjoong lives by. “No, that wasn’t the question- when is twilight, Park Seonghwa? I thought you’re into scientific explanations about how the world works,” Hongjoong, not baited by the taller’s gasoline on his fire, is about to throw  _ another  _ tantrum of the day. Hongjoong scolds himself in his mind, regretting how much of a disgraceful brat he can be if he has no ounce of self-control.

“Twilight is just. . . a specific time where the sun is there, yet non-existent. The sun is below the horizon, supposedly, but its rays of light are scattered all over the earth’s atmosphere. Which explains the colours,” Seonghwa says all of that, gently tapping his temple with his fingers. “Personally, I’m really fond of the colours you’ll be able to find in those hours. They remind me of you, Prince Hongjoong. Scattered, a mess most of the time, but people still find their own ways to like you.”

Hongjoong, still intoxicated by the colours of the Crescent flower - and maybe its scent - chuckles. “If I’m not being intrusive,” he positions himself to a cross-legged sitting position, “may I listen to your way of liking me?”

Seonghwa tilts his head. “My way?”

“Mmhm. Come on, you can be as sentimental as you want. The more tears you manage to jerk from my eyes the better,” Hongjoong goads, leaning on one of his thighs as if he’s a child waiting for another fun story time. Seonghwa cringes at the Prince’s choice of words, yet proceeded to wonder about it for a while. 

“Like I said,” Seonghwa looks back at his friend, who has his eyes wide and filled with curiosity. “I like you like everyone likes the light. Because the light is something permanent, always gone with the promise of returning the next day and the promises are always fulfilled. Because with the support of the light, we’ll be able to find certain things we’ve never paid attention to before,  _ small _ and sometimes irrelevant things- but they’re new nonetheless. Because the light acts almost like an eye-opener to most people, you know?”

Hongjoong is grinning from ear to ear, disgusted by the honesty spilling out of his friend’s lips (but in the best way possible, of course), but completely satiated. “Is it, really?” he questions, and Seonghwa nods, not an inch of fabrication on sight. “Can I officially say that  _ I  _ am the light of your life, then?” Hongjoong continues, trying to push Seonghwa’s buttons and get the other to punch him playfully across the shoulder or something - but what he got instead was another earnest nod. 

“You technically are, so yes. I would say so.”

Hongjoong swallowed nervously around nothing. Well  _ that  _ just made what he’s set out to do fifty times easier, huh. 

“S-Seonghwa, I have to tell you something,” he stands up within less than a millisecond, and Seonghwa stood up with him. “Yes, Prince Hongjoong, at your service.”

“Wait, what- no, you can’t say that,” Hongjoong shook his head, cursing himself when he finds Seonghwa’s concerned eyes. “Can’t say what-”

“You can’t say that you’re at my service, because I’m  _ going  _ somewhere and if you’re at my service you’re going to have to follow me and it’s not a very good idea- not that I stopped believing in your skills as a doctor, but it’s just. . . a new place?” Hongjoong tangled his fingers alongside each other in anxiousness, and Seonghwa gets even more confused. “Okay. Why not, then? I always go with you on your little quests, however  _ new  _ the places always are. You’re not going on your own, Prince Hongjoong - I am your self-renowned personal doctor and it has always been my duty to be responsible for your health. What if you faced a bunch of bandits and ripped an arm out, or something? You may be able to fight, but you don’t know a thing about first aid.”

Hongjoong feels personally attacked by the last fact Seonghwa brought up to the table, and he whined. “How do  _ you  _ know I don’t know anything about first aid? They taught us that in the academy!”

“And you’ve never listened because you’ve had me your whole life, Prince Hongjoong, as your personal first aid kit. Should I remind you how you  _ met  _ me?”

“No, Seonghwa, I don’t really have any other choice instead of my brain circuiting back to the memory of that accident every time I walk out of my gates.”

“Which means your argument is invalid, then. All you remember is how you met me and not a single thing about the things your academy taught you,” Seonghwa gave him a smug smile, before hurrying to call him ‘Prince Hongjoong’ as he always does when he forgets in a spur of the moment. 

“Well, yes,” Hongjoong rolls his eyes. “You matter to me more than my title as a Prince, either way.”

Seonghwa’s eyes softened, and he let a chuckle slip through his stoic facade. Hongjoong is still avoiding eye-contact, so the destination of this brand new trip must be really special to him. In a lower pitch, Seonghwa continues after leaning closer to his friend, continuing his act on waiting for the Crescent flower to be ripe enough to harvest; “Where are you going, anyway?”

Hongjoong is nervous to answer this one, too, and Seonghwa is begging for the Prince to just get over with it. Instead, Hongjoong swings from here to there in a ‘I’m-not-sure-I-can-tell-you’ motion, sighing when he decided there’s no keeping a secret from Seonghwa. He mumbled, and Seonghwa craned his neck to listen. “Can you repeat that?”

Hongjoong glares at him, and Seonghwa huffs. “H-  _ Prince  _ Hongjoong, for god’s sake, I can’t hear you if you don’t articulate yourself clearly enough to let people like me, who is trying to understand  _ you _ -”

“I’m going to find the Treasure, Seonghwa.”

Seonghwa leans away, taking in every single inch he can see of Hongjoong’s face very closely, to find out if his friend is messing with him - and because looking for the Treasure can literally mean death, so, hey, if this is the last time he’s going to see Hongjoong, might as well remember the man.

“Are you  _ already  _ plotting my murder- Jesus Christ, Seonghwa!” Hongjoong slaps a hand against his friend’s face, less lovingly than he had planned when he entered their garden a few moments ago, and Seonghwa retaliates. “Why would I if you already have a perfect suicided planned out for yourself? Dear God, Hongjoong, what is going through your mind? Are you consuming drugs? Are you consumed  _ by  _ drugs?”

“How does that even work, you doctor-ass big brain?”

“I don’t even  _ know _ how that works. I also don’t know why you’re still after something that will eventually kill you!”

“I am not going to die, Seonghwa,” Hongjoong finalizes, speaking in a calmer state this time. Seonghwa stares ahead in disbelief, and Hongjoong is starting to see a pattern. People never look into his eyes when they disagree with him, and he has not a single clue why they are the way they are. He’s never seen himself as  _ intimidating _ or respectful, or even terrifying, so this small insignificant fact lounged around his head with a glass of luxurious wine and a flower crown, always there but never really deemed important enough for him to insert in any type of conversation.

“Of course you’re not,” Seonghwa looks down at him, face equally as determined as Hongjoong’s. “Because I’m coming with you.”

Hongjoong was about to voice his opinion, his eyebrows united in the middle of his forehead and his face contorted in shock of the sudden announcement. “But Seonghwa- were you not listening to me? This is  _ dangerous _ , anyone who doesn’t even believe in the prophecy knows this fact! And. . . and you’re needed here. The people need you more than I do. Even if I fall down a lion’s den and die out there, nobody has to know - I’m a small but very needed sacrifice for our country to obtain  _ something _ , but this place right here,” the smaller one flails his arms around, trying to make a point. “They need you here, Hwa. Because this place are still going to evolve, and grow, and- and maybe I won’t,” Hongjoong takes Seonghwa’s hand in his, usually an effective route of convincing his friend. Usually. 

“You don’t always have to sacrifice yourself, Joong. You don’t always have to carry it all on your shoulder,  _ alone _ ,” Seonghwa mumbles, almost inaudible. 

“Well,” Hongjoong hums, cooling down a little bit, “someone has to.”

Seonghwa’s eyes flicker elsewhere, something akin to guilt dangling at the tip of his tongue. This is not a part of Seonghwa’s plan. A plan that included settling down one day, with either a significant other or just a pet, somewhere far,  _ far  _ away from the country he’s born in - preferably somewhere peaceful. Maybe by the mountains, or something. His plan includes not ever talking about the prophecy, something he’s born to fulfill, and stayed as quiet as he could to avoid any mishaps and guilt that would swallow him alive if he were to  _ not  _ fulfill the prophecy.

Prophecies are recipes for disaster, Seonghwa thinks. If not disaster to the whole world, disaster to one’s life. Take himself, for example.

Seonghwa lived a peaceful life, that is, until his parents ran their yearly check-up on their son when he was but a small and innocent 8-year-old. Something caught their eyes, obviously, since all of a sudden there’s a small yet prominent stamp on their son’s hand in the shape of a compass. It didn’t need to be that alarming, yet it was, simply for the fact that there was a prophecy that were said to be fulfilled within those years, and sooner than expected - there was a witch hunt all around their country, something that was said to be necessary since they were in desperate need to find the kids with the ‘mark of the compass’. Seonghwa has the compass, obviously, tatted on his wrist like some kind of  _ disease _ \- but there is no way his parents are about to let their people know that.

The country was -  _ is  _ \- so engraved in their belief of the prophecy, about the ones who are about to find the Treasure, the ones who are going to go even further and beyond, where the founders of Utopia have never been to before. Seonghwa has little to no clue where these prophecies are spewed out from, where they even  _ heard  _ it to begin with, but he always appeared pessimistic. Mostly because he’s always been scared of the world and how they would treat him once they’ve seen the fact that he, too, has the compass.

The witch hunt died months after it started, one of the factors being the fact that they’ve found  _ one  _ kid with the compass; and that it’s one of the Princes. They’ve always thought it was Prince Soobin, hence why he never goes out to any of the wars even when he was needed, but some also thought it was Prince Taeyong, simply because he’s always so fierce and dominating. But Seonghwa could care less. He could’ve cared even less if he wasn’t always forced to go out with long sleeves even in the hottest summer days, but if this is what he has to live with in order to survive without being noticed as one of the people the prophecy is about, he’s okay with it. The Prince with the compass would fulfill the prophecy on his own, right? He’s capable enough to do so. He will. Seonghwa doesn’t ever need to step in. That’s just unnecessary. And disrespectful, since their Princes are capable of almost everything and anything.  _ Or it could even be Lady Haseul, who knows. _

But Seonghwa’s misfortunes did  _ not  _ stop there, though he wished that it would’ve, countless times everyday. 

Seonghwa won’t ever count his meeting with Prince Hongjoong as a misfortune, though the other would insist that he does based on the way Seonghwa talks about their meeting in such an uninterested posture every time anyone brought it up. No, it wasn’t a misfortune - it was a blessing leading to a misfortune. 

With that in mind, little 11-year-old Seonghwa knew how much of a fuck-up he’s going to be, later on in life, if he befriended someone with a higher power; one as high as the Princes themselves. When he was but an 8-year-old, Seonghwa bumped into none other than the infamous Prince Taeyong once, and the older did nothing but glare at him with disdain. This didn’t scar Seonghwa for life or anything, didn’t mask his view of the Princes and deep-root some weird, twisted anger inside of him. It just taught him that the hierarchy around his country is merciless, and that he’s nothing but a piece of floating trash.

That changed when he met Prince Hongjoong, of course, and when his parents treated the prince’s physical wounds.  _ Seonghwa knew no one else could treat Prince Hongjoong’s mental wounds but himself, but he never said that out loud in fear of his head and how much he would rather it not ending up on a silver platter. But he knows Prince Hongjoong has some internal battles, more often than anyone else. _

He discovered that Prince Hongjoong had the compass on his wrist too, that day, and though Seonghwa didn’t really understand the meaningful glances his parents threw each other that day - he knew how glad he was when he figured out the fact that he’s not alone. Being not alone has always been a gift for Seonghwa, and being not alone in something tied strongly with the prophecy made him feel like there’s a large boulder sliding off of his shoulders. He promised himself since then that he’s going to stick around Prince Hongjoong, no matter what the cost. Luckily for him, Hongjoong has never made it hard for him to do so. 

Never, except for now.

Seonghwa didn’t tell his friend about  _ his  _ compass. That would be a disaster, he assumed - especially if he’d tell Hongjoong now, out of all the time in the world they’ve spent together as friends. Hongjoong is very easily triggered, Seonghwa figured out as much, and he doesn’t want to trigger the prince - who had his mind set on something - and set the plan Hongjoong piled up carefully on fire.

Which brings us to here, and now. Present day, where the guilt is still dangling on the tip of Seonghwa’s tongue and Hongjoong is starting to glare at him suspiciously. He’s been absent from saying anything for about a whole minute, and he’s never done that, so maybe his mind needs to gather up the courage he needs to say something and just-

“Prince Hongjoong, I am a part of the prophecy, too.”

_ That  _ \- is something Seonghwa avoided completely. Apparently, it wasn’t only shocking for him to say, but also for Hongjoong to hear. The prince is looking up at Seonghwa, head tilted a few degrees so that he’s able to see his friend through the curtains of hair that is his messily chopped bangs. “You’re a what, now, Seonghwa?”

“A part. . . of the- well that’s what I assumed. You know, since there was a huge outbreak about the prophecy a few years back when people claimed that these few years are the exact time where the prophecy is going to be fulfilled? And then they started to talk about the mark of the compass? I’m not really sure, my parents hid me away from everyone who believed in the prophecy so I’m not really updated on any of this, but-”

“Park Seonghwa,” Hongjoong clears his throat, visibly trying to force the other to just spit it out. Well, how the tables have turned. 

Seonghwa curses, not liking the times when he knows for sure he can’t go against Hongjoong’s will; though maybe it’s an all-the-time situation since Hongjoong  _ is  _ a prince and he’s nothing but a lowlife that is just lucky he got on Hongjoong’s good side all those times ago. He finally caved in though, despite the stalling, and pulled the long sleeves on his right arms up. The reveal is nothing short of shocking for Hongjoong, and he huffs an annoyed sigh.

He’s annoyed. Not by Seonghwa; not really.

He’s just annoyed because sitting right there, on his old-friend’s wrist, something he’s seen everyday, every night - all the time. And this whole time he always felt like he’s all alone, not believing the odds that his closest friend might be affected by the prophecy since, well, it  _ is  _ a prophecy and if Hongjoong needs to fulfill the prophecy then his whole environment would move accordingly too, won’t they? But he always avoided that thought, never wanting to drag anyone into this  _ thing  _ he’s over-obsessed with. This prophecy; one that won’t even prove itself to be true unless he really goes out for it and takes a leap.

But it turns out that Park Seonghwa, out of everyone else, is  _ also  _ tangled along the red string of fate that involves Kim Hongjoong?

Which shouldn’t surprise him that much since earlier that day, after going all the way up to the mountain of Utopia and summoning someone he shouldn’t have summoned - he was escorted somewhere; to a place he’s never really seen before to meet some people he doesn’t really know. All of their faces are unfamiliar, all except one. Excluding the other version of himself he talked to and fought; the person who was simply Kim Hongjoong before his soul was split in half when he found the Treasure, which led to Hongjoong and the other Hongjoong now co-existing in the same era - there was one more person. One more that was so familiar to him, Hongjoong was almost seduced to stay, though it was somewhere he’s never been to before.  _ Seonghwa.  _

“-Joong? Prince Hongjoong?” and his voice flows in casually, entering Hongjoong’s ear canal as if Seonghwa wasn’t just roaming around his brain a couple minutes ago. “I. . . I beg that you let me come along with you. I understand if you’re upset over my decision in keeping this a secret from you this whole time. But I fear for your safety if you don’t let me be by your side. I’m no fighter you can lean onto, though I promise I’ll try my best to patch you up the way I was taught to.”   
“Ha,” Hongjoong chuckles, waving a hand nonchalantly. Seonghwa frowned at this, but retreated to his position to not further aggravate the prince - if he was even aggravated in the first place. “It’s okay, Hwa. I guess I’m just. . . wow. I should’ve seen it coming, but I was just- uh, no, yeah,” the prince continues, and Seonghwa gets even more curious. “Sorry, sorry. Let me just- you are very much welcomed to come with me on this journey, Park Seonghwa. I’m sorry I didn’t further ask of your intentions before harshly turning you down-”

“No, Prince Hongjoong, you weren’t harsh at all.”

“Either way,” Hongjoong clears his throat, looking as if he’s trying to get a full grip on reality before floating away. “I’m glad that you are. . . like me,” he smiles.

Seonghwa keeps the eye contact with the prince, both of them staring in silence for a short while.

“I’m serious, Hwa. For almost 20-years of my life, I thought I was the only one the prophecy chose. I thought I would have to tackle all the world’s problems by myself, since there was so much I needed to do all at once. There were too many hopes and dreams that were put upon my shoulders, so this. . .  _ this  _ is. . .” Hongjoong sighs, and there’s a glitter of hope in his eyes, “comforting. Thank you, Seonghwa.”

Before this, Seonghwa thought that it would’ve been too much information at the same time if he revealed his secret to Hongjoong, but seeing the prince this way - almost like he felt back then when he saw Hongjoong’s mark of the compass; relieved - made him take back whatever it is he was thinking. If he could light almost a thousand a hundred and seventeen stars in Hongjoong’s eyes everytime he trusts the other, he’d trust Hongjoong over anyone in his life anytime. 

“Well, Prince Hongjoong,” Seonghwa clears his throat, his expression suggestive. “Should we get ready?”

“Why are your eyebrows doing that- what do you mean  _ ‘we’ _ ? I am very much ready, Park Seonghwa, I don’t know about you,” Hongjoong grimaced when he leaned away from the close-proximity of his friend’s face. Switch. It’s like Kim Hongjoong has a switch in his brain and every time Seonghwa says something sappy enough for him to cringe over, he goes batshit crazy over how disgusting it is.

There’s literally nothing sappy about Seonghwa’s question, though, and Hongjoong just doesn’t know how to act sometimes.

“. . . okay? Would you come inside and wait for me to finish or-” Seonghwa furrows his eyebrows.

“N-no? Yes? Maybe? Am I going to wake your parents up? It’s pretty late into the night?”

“I don’t think they’re  _ not  _ awake by how loud we’ve been arguing this whole time.”

“You started it, Hwa,” Hongjoong giggles, shouldering his bundle on his way inside.


	3. Treasure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kim Hongjoong; who he was and what individual(s) he has become - and what made him the way 'they' are right now.

Kim Hongjoong was - _ is  _ \- a good man. Long before their view was hazed by the fog of the Treasure and everything related to its mythical self, and long before he got himself and his whole crew punished for something they had done. In their defense, it was a decision made under the influence of some very odd, other-worldly power.

Though, if we were to go back to talk about Hongjoong; the Hongjoong before, when they were nothing but a  _ he  _ and they were all  _ one _ , not split up in half and existing one with the other; though one lives too far away from the other and was not expected to even appear until the very night that he did. Before knowing anything about the Treasure, Hongjoong was a good man. Unluckily enough, a little bit below average in terms of economic stability, but a good man nonetheless. 

He used to help the local baker, earn a few coins out of his hard work throughout the whole day - and maybe earn a little more if the baker is feeling nice or if he puts on his best puppy-eyes. Other than that, Hongjoong does nothing but drown in self pity. He never showed it, though, and opted on being so self-pitying that he helped other people instead. Helped the little ducks cross the busy street after they took a little bath in the lake, helped the old lady when she was too confused with mathematics in the middle of buying her groceries, helped a young boy when he was lost in the busy market, and helped the librarian rearranging her books every now and then.

Hongjoong really likes the librarian. She looks smart, she’s a bit too brave to  _ only  _ work as a librarian (but that is okay, since in this country you have to be brave to take on any career), and she gives Hongjoong her extra hot-chocolates sometimes. She introduced herself as Yves, and Hongjoong warmed up to her almost immediately. 

There were days where Hongjoong just wanted that extra hot-chocolate but decided against going to the library, since he figured he’s weighed everyone else down enough in his life that Yves is going to feel the same as everybody - and he doesn’t really want to be criticized by his new friend. Not yet, at least. 

But those were also the days where Yves would look at him in faux anger and disappointment the next day, arms folded in front of her chest and eyebrows furrowed. 

“Kim Hongjoong.”   
“I know, I’m sorry,” Hongjoong would reply, avoiding eye contact as best as he can. And then he’d grin, finally meeting the woman’s eyes, trying his best to thaw her anger. “Busy day yesterday?”

And Yves would tell him that it wasn’t about how busy she was and how much she needed his help - it was the fact that he’s her friend, and the absence of a friend even for a day is alarming to Yves. Hongjoong never asked her to elaborate more about this, and he’s not sure he’s glad about it since the Hongjoong that is now roaming the country doesn’t really know a Yves and the Hongjoong with all the memories from who they were before the split lives high up on a rocky mountain they once called the Utopia.

Ah yes, the split.

So it went like this; Yves found a book somewhere in her large library with creepy old runes on the cover, but accompanied by something as simple as the print of a compass on the back of the cover. She told Hongjoong about it for fun, and then a couple days later the two of them found out about the prophecy. Hongjoong was pessimistic, but willing to try anything to get people like him out of the misery they were put in by society. Yves believed in the prophecy, but she wasn’t sure that her small friend was up for the test (nor that she wanted to lose him, because it sounds dangerous). They argued for a little while, apparently with Hongjoong’s hard-headed nature and Yves’ motherlike one, things could get a bit heated.

Hongjoong left Yves with tears in her eyes, and he might’ve wanted to cry too, but there is no way we can cross check that with reality since none of the Hongjoong(s) that exist would be able to remember any of this  _ or  _ admit to the fact that they cried. After he left, he left for good. There was apparently a whole big community of people that believed in the prophecy, and they sold maps and whatnot leading up to the supposed Treasure. Hongjoong didn’t believe in anything at first, but decided to do so since he’s got little to no information on the reality of this Treasure or how to even get there safe and sound.

It was a lot of hiking and a lot of getting lost, since uneducated Kim Hongjoong didn’t know how to read the map aside from the voice on the back of his head telling him that ‘Maybe. . . left,’ or ‘Yes, yes, it can’t possibly  _ not  _ be that very small, fragile tree trunk that you have to get through,’ he didn’t have a single clue. But that was where he met Seonghwa and Yeosang, the country’s largest brain cells - if we were to call them that - since they’re the two smartest graduate of the country’s most prestigious university; and though Hongjoong have yet another round of not giving a fuck and he almost literally went ‘Huh? Who are you?’ in front of them, they helped him by forcing him to tag along on the hike.  _ Seonghwa was a little more persistent than Yeosang, but the younger also gave Hongjoong his untouched sandwiches and other fancy foods so. _

The rest of Kim Hongjoong’s team was found during their way there, since apparently it took them months and months to figure out where to head to next. Song Mingi was a smart wizard, apparently he emphasized on the smart just to make sure he didn’t fall into the same category as all the other ‘wizards’ who were just really, really crazy old people. Mingi’s family had been delving into the arts of using magical stones and other non-alive magical things, and as Seonghwa has said it; they weren’t that much different from Seonghwa’s family, who took deep interest on harvesting medication out of herbs. Hongjoong could live with that, so they took Mingi in, despite the protest from the younger when he thought they were going to make fun of his age. Mingi caved in when Yeosang chimed from behind him that they’re basically the same age and they were going to get along so well.

Jeong Yunho was a passerby, literally as clueless as Hongjoong was before Seonghwa and Yeosang dragged his clueless ass around - but Yunho wasn’t even interested in following the treasure hunt for the Treasure, he was just lost. As simple as that. But he saw the group walking  _ up  _ and thought he should warn them that it was going to be tough to walk on. Hongjoong recognized Yunho, though, as the child of their Head Guard, and dragged him along with the promises of making his father proud and whatnot (which ended up in Yunho sobbing along the hike, talking about how he’ll never make his father proud no matter what he did) and Seonghwa made Hongjoong calm Yunho down. It was a mess, all up to that point - but they never thought they would be a mess until they’ve met Jung Wooyoung and Choi San.

The two literally ambushed them, tried to take their food supplies and, if they were lucky, the clothes right off the Hongjoong and his companies’ bodies. Apparently, they were two wild young kids whose parents didn’t really love anymore, and they ended up fleeing from their unfair unloving hands to the forests of the Utopia mountains. Another batch of kids who weren’t there for the Treasure, just to live a life.

Seonghwa and Yeosang almost literally beat the living hell out of their asses - with the context of asserting dominance and showing the fact that they’ve been trained to fight in the Academy, not literally beating some kids up until they were black and blue just because they wanted some food - and gave Wooyoung and San enough of what they needed. They left the two at that, Seonghwa gave them some lengthy speech about how nice it would’ve been if they just asked and not tried to hurt anyone with knives and other types of weapons, but then realized only days later that the two kids were following them all along.

They got a lot closer with Yeosang, too, since they all viewed the world in the same manner, apparently (though Yeosang had to went through a lot of ‘You’re just a privileged kid, what the fuck do you know about hardships?’ from Wooyoung and a lot of dirty glares from San). 

Things started changing when they got to the very top, and in front of the entrance of a cave, there was a young man. Seemingly younger than Yeosang and his same-aged friends but with a little more ‘life’ weighing down on his facial expressions.

Hongjoong approached the young man, though against the rest of his friends’ wishes, and figured out that his name was Choi Jongho, and he was sent out here by his peers just to see if he would make it alone. He figured out half-way that they were just trying to get rid of him, so he stayed hiking until the very top, and then he was left with not knowing what to do - since he’s never even heard of the prophecies either.

Hongjoong recited the prophecy for the n-th time in that entire hike, since he’s been reciting it over and over again to the people he’d newly met except for Seonghwa and Yeosang; who knew about the prophecy and were already planning to get to it.

Jongho joined them, they entered the  _ Utopia _ .

The whole country buzzed about it, they continuously bragged about how  _ their  _ people were the first ones to take a step towards the Treasure when the rest of the world did nothing but moan and whine about a savior. And that's how Kim Hongjoong and his friends were dubbed with the title ‘Treasure Hunters; the ones who found Utopia.’ The title obviously didn’t age well, since no one uses it anymore in the present day either because it was too long or they simply refer to the eight as ‘the founders of Utopia’. 

The Utopia, in and of itself, was already overwhelming for normal human beings. At first glance, it could’ve been paradise, how it was overflowing with magical energy and heaps of riches they’ve never even seen before - and it was normal for humans to make mistakes. Even the prophecy said so.

So they did. 

Mistakes are hard to live by, but even harder if you were to accept the consequences that came with your mistakes.  _ Their  _ mistakes were dire enough at that moment, and the Utopia spoke to them, regarding the wishes of the Treasure. They were disappointed, truly and deeply disappointed that the eight young men would do something so unacceptable. They were banned from going back home, ever again, since they “ _ didn’t have the right to return after setting off false alarms and lighting the fire of hope and dreams for the people _ ,” or something akin to that.

That night, they went through an unbearable pain as they suffered the punishment for their mistakes - and the next morning, the magic and soul of the Utopia was gone, along with half of their souls.

If you had a split second thought that things couldn’t get more fucked up than that, the whole country is now trying the best they can to get to the Utopia mountains, find them and kill them - for making a mistake big enough to make the whole world’s focus float right back to their country. It was a mess, but after a few years of being safe and sound, hiding on the tops of the Utopia (or what once was the Utopia), the trouble slowly faded from their busy minds. It did occur to them once that maybe they weren’t attacked because their country was busy with  _ something  _ else - but they were banned from ever going back. There was nothing left for them to do.

Nothing left but to wait, maybe. . . and wait for the right person at the right time to come knocking on their entrance and blow their minds.

But years passed, more years, decades,  _ more  _ decades - and they’ve heard nothing but complete silence. They don’t  _ feel  _ alive, and they didn’t feel the need to be alive. There was nothing they could do, for they didn't proceed and grow like normal human beings. They just exist, hanging on to the little bits of sanity they got left, hanging like bats in the cold and not-living cave they used to take joy so much in.

There was no hunger, no fatigue, no need to be angered as much as they were, no thirst, no dire decisions they needed to take in such a short time - life was meaningless, to say the least.

The map was left behind on one corner, unmoving.

It was like a long, silent, and unrealistic illusion of a phase before you go to sleep. It was going on for such a long time, though, that they thought they would have perished right then and there if not for the single break of light they heard, knocking on their doors.  _ Well, ‘knocking’ on their doors since you can’t knock on rocks and they don’t really have doors. _

“H-hello?”

It has been a long while since they heard anything other than their own, numbed, beating hearts - but this one sounds awfully familiar.

“Anyone in this cave?”

Hongjoong looked behind, at the rest of his friends that were gathered behind him, equally curious. The creature outside took one deep breath before he shouted, at the top of his lungs; “I am Kim Hongjoong, I’m here to look for the ones who found the Treasure!”

Their hearts  _ stopped. _

*

Seonghwa lets his gaze fall on the mountain behind them, one they are walking away from. “They live all the way up there?” he inquires, and Hongjoong gives him his most enthusiastic nod. “Yeah. According to them, no other human being, alive or dead - has successfully met either one of them before. Makes sense,” Hongjoong coughs into his hand after he - all too excitedly - sniffed on a flower. “The climb was too much and if you weren’t looking for guidance, it won’t ever be worth it.”

There’s a moment of silence where Seonghwa lets Hongjoong finish coughing into his hand before he hands the smaller a handkerchief, a knowing smile playing on the corner of his lips. “Are you sure we aren’t cursed by an otherworldly power, or something, Prince Hongjoong?” Seonghwa sighs,  _ “Hexed, _ maybe?”

“There’s always a possibility,” Hongjoong replies, nose red from the squeeze of his handkerchief around them. “But we literally have no choice. I’ve even tried my best to talk individually with other countries’ actual Princes and they swore on their mothers’ graves that they’ve tried to avoid our country’s rage from time to time - but all our people wanted was war, and more war.”

The two climbed off their horses, soon after a guard approached them with a warm, welcoming smile and led their horses to a stable. 

“How are you still in a strong friendship with  _ this  _ country, then?” Seonghwa looks up at the kingdom, towering above their heads in all its glory. Hongjoong clicks his tongue, grabbing Seonghwa’s unemployed right arm. “I am not friends with any country, Park Seonghwa. I’m friends with the individuals,” Hongjoong smiles. “Come on, we can’t waste Prince Yeosang’s precious time. I’m sure he’s got a lot to do other than just converse with us.”

Seonghwa can’t tell if that last sentence is meant to be sarcastic or not, yet he goes along with his prince. Whatever Hongjoong says, goes.

“What the everliving  _ fuck _ ?”

“Yeosaaaaaaang!” the whiny voice of the prince’s best friend enters their ear canals when Yeosang (‘accidentally’) used a word unsuitable for Princes. Yeosang looks up from his conversation with Hongjoong and Seonghwa to find Wooyoung, seated on the ground with his arms and legs crossed and his lips formed into a pout. “What, Wooyoung?” the aforementioned prince half-hisses, seemingly tired of the other’s overly adorable persona he’s always put on in front of new people.

“You can’t use that word,” Wooyoung wags his index finger on Yeosang’s direction, while Hongjoong watches all of this with amusement.

“What word?”

“ _ The  _ word, Sang.”

“Which- oh, you mean ‘fuck’?” Yeosang tilts his head, and Wooyoung gasps - a little over dramatic for anyone else’s taste, but he looks pretty satisfied, and he goes back to whatever business he was doing before he scolded Yeosang with a smile on his face. Seonghwa grimaced. “Isn’t he. . . supposed to refer to you as Prince Yeosang? Or are you two,” the oldest in the room looked between Yeosang and Wooyoung, “ _ related _ ?”

Judging by the reactions of everybody else in the room when Seonghwa let that monstrosity slipped out of his mouth, this was by far the most out of the box guess Seonghwa has ever guessed in his life. Yeosang barely held himself from spitting the tea he’s been sipping, Hongjoong snorts in an unroyal way, and Wooyoung is now splayed out on the floor, shrieking. Or laughing, there’s really no telling what the man is doing.

“Hwa, they-” Hongjoong clears his throat, and Seonghwa’s attention returns to him. “Yeosang and Wooyoung aren’t related,” he chuckles, “they do things only people who aren’t related to each other can do? Sometimes? Yes, let’s just phrase it that way.”

Seonghwa’s mouth formed a little ‘O’, but he said nothing regarding the new information he achieved. He’s definitely not one to judge.

Yeosang clears his throat, subtly demanding the focus to center back around him and his opinions. “Are you being realistic right now, Kim Hongjoong?” he continues, rising on his feet to retrieve more tea on his now half-empty mug. “Searching for the Treasure? And only with one companion? I do not mean to offend doctor Park-”

“None taken, Prince Yeosang,” Seonghwa cuts with an awkward grin.

“-yes. Thank you. But your only companion is doctor Park, and last time I heard from you two and your little messy shenanigans was when Kim Hongjoong right here travelled to countries where your King’s feisty little attitude aren’t heard of, yet. You were trying to. . . damage control the neighboring countries to work together in your favour, if I took the news correctly - which I always do. Did  _ that  _ plan do you any good, good Sir?” Yeosang leans on the table, eyes looking down on Hongjoong in mock arrogance. 

Hongjoong chuckles, all too familiar with the way Yeosang is acting.

“It didn’t go well at all,” Hongjoong admits, pursing his lips when Yeosang scoffs, skipping back to his seat across from them. “Though I demanded for a peaceful peace offering, they’ve always greeted me in arrogance and anxiety that peaked through the roof. After passing by three other Princes that wanted my head on a silver platter and hired an assassin to kill me and my companion, I retreated back home since I realized that the trip wasn’t only putting me in danger, but Park Seonghwa here, too.”

Yeosang puts his mug on the table with a little too much force, his eyes squinted into one of his infamous expressions, mostly used when he’s over-suspicious about an important matter. “Why was Park Seonghwa put in danger?”

“Uh,” Hongjoong looks back and forth between the other prince and his friend, sitting all-too-quiet by his side. “Because no one’s ever taught him how to fight?”   
If Yeosang was squinting his eyes before, now they’re almost fully closed from his full-body shiver, caused by none other than his primal need to just go ‘huh?’ - but stopped himself from doing so since he  _ is  _ still wearing a princely robe and the heavy ass crown is still dangling on top of his head. He needs to keep his posture, especially since Wooyoung over there really enjoys outing him and telling tales of his misfortunes as a Prince to none other than Yeosang’s own mother, the scariest ruler Yeosang has ever met.

“Why- why did no one teach Park Seonghwa how to fight, then?” Yeosang further questions, flapping the oversized sleeves on his left arm while he leans back on his chair, feigning interest. In actuality, he’s just blown away by the fact that a shithole as shitty as Hongjoong and Seonghwa’s country is  _ still  _ walking on its own two feet - and he’s not saying that to be an arrogant asshole. He’s saying that because the country these two men came from has a reputation (obviously, not a good one) which preceded every other thing they have. 

Their education system? Pretty much as trash as their ruler, that one angry old hag that stays angry all the time because both his son  _ and  _ wife ran away from him.  _ There’s a deep dark secret Yeosang knows about the king and how his son and wife  _ died _ , but he figures it is irrelevant to bring up now.  _ Their hierarchy system? Well, Yeosang doesn’t really want to point fingers at himself and self-announce the fact that he’s not guilty because he  _ is  _ guilty of being a prince and having the power almost half of his country’s inhabitants are desperate to have - but Hongjoong’s country takes the crown of being absolute dipshits to people who don’t have gold adorning their vests and feed stray cats for a living. So the answer to his own question, he can already guess. 

“Because our King. . . doesn’t really care too much about educating those who aren’t Princes. And Lady Haseul,” Hongjoong answers, truthfully. Yeosang squints, trying to find the fire of guilt behind Hongjoong’s stern eyes - but there is none. There is anger, though, and Yeosang wonders how much longer that little country will survive when their only level-headed person; Kim Hongjoong - left to find the Treasure. 

Yeosang sighs, his eyes meeting Wooyoung’s for a split second. His friend is listening intently, and for the first time in forever - he looks interested.

Wooyoung doesn’t usually look interested at all when people would come into his friend’s office to find the prince, and Yeosang wouldn’t blame him for being bored to death. Wooyoung is a little -  _ different _ . His attention span is very short, and if you put the blame on him for not paying attention, he would start to either throw tantrums about how mean you’re being or start tearing up and cry for the rest of the day. Simply put, Wooyoung acts a whole lot younger than he’s supposed to, and Yeosang has been the only friend he has, since every other cocky little boys who felt like they’re royal enough to kick Wooyoung in the stomach did - just because he’s ‘annoying’ and ‘childish’. 

So, usually, Wooyoung -  _ he and Yeosang are the same age  _ \- would just sit in the corner of the room while his friend listens to the people’s rage from their other friend, the head guard called Jeong Yunho. More often than not, some other unfamiliar people would walk into Yeosang’s office and Wooyoung would retreat to some other room since he’s not so good at dealing with strangers. But this time, Yeosang observed his friend’s uncharacteristically calm attitude. He’s listening to their conversation, too, and Yeosang feels the need to smile a little bit fondly, despite the situation he finds himself in.

_ Maybe Wooyoung is interested in prophecies,  _ Yeosang concludes, and he reminds himself to read a few to Wooyoung one day, if the other would have him. 

“What do you need from me?” Yeosang whips, turning his head back to Hongjoong, who is automatically anxious of the question, rambling on and on about ‘No, no! I’m asking nothing from you, we- we aren’t those kind of people we’re just- here to ask you  _ about  _ something, not  _ for  _ your riches or anything-’ and Yeosang chuckles. “I know you don’t need anything materialistic, Kim Hongjoong. That’s why I’m asking you. What do you need from  _ me _ ? What can I provide that you went straight to me instead of my mother, who is fond of you a whole lot more than I do?”

Yeosang feels Seonghwa’s eyes that are looking at him intently, but more precisely his wrist - and he connects the dots almost instantly. 

“Ah,” he nods, solemnly.

Hongjoong, whose lips were opened just enough to start talking, shuts them back, looking back and forth (again) between Yeosang and Seonghwa. “What? Did Seonghwa say anything to you already? Yeosang, do you have telekinesis?”

“No, he didn’t say anything. He  _ was  _ hyper focused on my wrist, though,” Yeosang says, still looking at Seonghwa - who he is now holding an eye contact with - and pulls the oversized sleeves up, revealing his bony wrist. Yeosang winks, causing Seonghwa to lean further away from his seat little by little. “Why are you so interested in them, doctor? Anywhere else is more interesting than my wrist, I’ve always assumed,” Yeosang flirts, and Hongjoong made a sound akin to choking, unsure if it’s caused by Yeosang’s nature of shameless flirting or because of the familiar decoration on his otherwise untouched skin.

“You have the mark of the compass, too, Prince Yeosang,” Seonghwa says, a little too close to a whisper, and Yeosang ‘ah’-ed once again, before his flirty eyes returned. “Is  _ that  _ the only thing you were interested in?”

“Yeosang,” Hongjoong cuts his friend’s flirtatious banter with his own hands, suddenly wrapped around Yeosang’s wrist while he pulls the younger forward. Yeosang, alarmed by this behaviour and worried that his tea will spill all over the place, eyed Hongjoong coldly. “Yes, Hongjoong, I can flirt  _ and  _ discuss serious matters. Why must you pull me forward-”

“You’re coming with us.” 

Yeosang looks at Hongjoong for real now, as if what the older said was the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard in his entire almost 20 years of living. “What?” he frowns, and Hongjoong’s realization hits him too late. 

_ He needs to find everyone with the mark of the compass for him to even  _ begin  _ the long journey. _

“Hongjoong, I-” Yeosang releases Hongjoong’s grip on his hand, softly. “I can’t. I have. . . responsibilities. I can’t just walk out and leave, we don’t have as many princes as your country does. And- and Wooyoung. I can’t leave Wooyoung-”

“You don’t have to leave  _ Wooyoung _ ,” unexpectedly, the owner of the name chimes in. Yeosang’s head snaps into Wooyoung’s direction, shock written on his face. He knows too damn well where this conversation is going and he isn’t about to let it be. “Woo,” Yeosang raises an eyebrow, his tone dropping a few octaves in a scolding manner. “Sang,” Wooyoung responds, unaffected and now standing up - with a friendly smile decorating his face. Yeosang heaves a sigh when Wooyoung approached the three of them only to stand behind him, Wooyoung’s arms thrown around the prince as he leans forward to look at Seonghwa and Hongjoong, stretching one hand out as if waiting for a handshake. 

“Hi! I’m Wooyoung!” the new addition to the conversation chirps, and he made a short pulling move - effectively removing his long sleeves that hid his  _ you-know-what _ . (I’m not even sure why they’re  _ all  _ wearing long sleeves on the same day, but eh). 

While Hongjoong is focused on scanning Wooyoung’s wrist in disbelief, Wooyoung himself uses this opportunity to announce his entanglement with the prophecy in the most dramatic voice possible; “And I  _ also  _ have the mark of the compass.”   
And then Wooyoung gave them a proud smile, as if he’s just achieved something so undeniably fantastic by announcing that fact. Yeosang chuckles, squeezing Wooyoung’s arms tighter around his neck all at the same time as Hongjoong completely losing his shit and Seonghwa trying to take a deep breath. 

Yeosang looks up at his friend, still hovering over his shoulder - and he pats Wooyoung’s head, soft and maternal. “Good job, Wooyoung. You tell’ em.”

Wooyoung giggles, burying his face in Yeosang’s puffy hair. 

“Well  _ shit _ ,” Hongjoong stands up, messing with his own locks. “I guess. . . I guess that settles it. You’re coming with us if Wooyoung goes, right? You’ll follow him to the end of the world?”

Yeosang tilts his head, since he noticed something else in Hongjoong’s tone. Sure, the older sounds grateful that the people that are connected to the prophecy are slowly falling into place - but there’s just. . . something else. Is he worried that there’s going to be too much? Too many of them? Too much to take care of? Did Hongjoong leave to find the Treasure because he wants to fulfill what has been written or because he wanted to escape what was bestowed upon him, back in his own country?

“I  _ will  _ follow Wooyoung to the end of the world,” Yeosang waits for Hongjoong to look back at them before continuing, “only if you’ll have us, Kim Hongjoong.”   
Hongjoong hums, confused.

“I know how important this journey is to you, Hongjoong. I’ll hate myself forever if I’d be in your way, stopping you from reaching your dreams with your full-potential,” Yeosang sports a smile, and Hongjoong almost immediately shakes his head. “Yeosang! Don’t say those things. You and Wooyoung are very treasured additions to the prophecy, and I’m glad I’ve come across both of you,” Hongjoong assures his  _ now  _ new team, wondering to himself over the fact that the people he’s met these days have been desperately in need of a confidence boost. Maybe he’ll do something about that, too. Help his friends and maybe himself along the way.

Seonghwa looks up at Hongjoong, noticing the out of character quietness he receives from the prince, but opted on not bringing it up just yet. Hongjoong can handle some more. Seonghwa has faith that he can.

The knock on the door is faint, though it grows louder by the second.

_ “Prince Yeosang? Hello? Is anyone in there?” _

Yeosang squints again, and Seonghwa notes that this might be a habit - before he gasps. “Ah! Jeong Yunho! Come in, the door is unlocked and you are very much welcomed.”


	4. HALA HALA (Hearts Awakened, Live Alive)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A young man who needs to abandon a toxic factory, a young man who is taken advantage of by everything holy, and an assassin who has feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: This isn't meant to offend anyone and or any religion, any trauma or past experiences. This is all a work of fiction and I wish none of this upon anyone.

Jeong Yunho - a man who is well known in his country. Well, as well known as he can be with the fact that his origins remained hidden under the lies his parents told to keep their son from suffering, as so the  _ other  _ parents whose child received the mark of the compass. Technically speaking, none of these men are their children by blood; but that is something to explore on another day. Today, we will talk about Yunho.

The young man who received his title pretty quickly into adulthood, as in the age where young kids are supposed to have the inability in figuring out what they want to be in life, but Yunho has never been that way.

His father is a Head Guard, and uniquely, the same Head Guard who was the father of  _ the  _ Jeong Yunho. Yes, the Yunho-before-the-split, his father is still alive until now - which makes him the oldest and the only actual ‘father’ amongst all the others, though he acts least like one and more like a communist leader, according to Yunho’s diary entries he kept under his bed, the furthest from his room’s entrance - so his little sister won’t ever be able to reach it and in worst case scenario, sold them all to their father for lunch money.

Though the old man is  _ old _ (literally, he’s like what, 120 something by now?), Yunho still leaves in fear that whatever his old man would or could say against him would make a very much drastic change. Yunho doesn’t love changes. He loathes them.

What he doesn’t ultimately hate, though, is the mark of the compass. A way out, if you will. Out of his overly-toxic family who doesn’t really love him and loves the money he’s able to produce even more, and day by day, he’s inching closer and closer to the great unknown. To freedom.

That, if only he could assure his best friend to go with him.

“Are you. . .” his mother chimes from the kitchen, and Yunho looks up from his breakfast, too distracted by the cliffhanger of the question to go back to thinking about his lifelong plans. “Are you going to see prince Yeosang?”

Yunho’s actual mother died - of old age, god bless her - and this one is. . . a new wife. His father’s new wife. They got married when  _ this  _ Yunho turned three-years-old and had a child, who he treats the nicest out of everyone in the household. 

“Uh, maybe,” Yunho shrugs, unable to answer for sure. He’s got a lot planned for today, and meeting prince Yeosang would usually take 55% of his time since the young man sure enjoys talking. “Why? Do you have any complaints you’d want me to take to him, or?”

The woman shakes her head, returning to whatever it is she was doing before. “Just be careful,” she finalizes, and Yunho nods. He’s never claimed to be someone with overpowering psychological powers - he can’t really read a situation unless it is being told to him, word by word. “Oh, and bring Aurora home, will you? She’s been skipping breakfast and I fear for her health.”   
Yunho once again nods, eyebrows furrowed in search of his sister’s favourite places. Why has she been gone every morning, he has no idea - and he’s never had anything to do with it to  _ ask  _ her, but the gnawing feeling in his guts told him that maybe he should’ve. He doesn’t despise her as much as he despises everyone else. She was just always  _ there,  _ existing alongside his existence. Never too much aggression or demands, either. She’s like a floating being made of light he’d never taken into consideration before, but maybe he should’ve.

“Fuck,” Yunho sighs, messing with his own hair. His plan to leave the next morning to follow whatever the prophecy meant for him to do might have to wait, since he needs to leave on good terms at  _ least  _ with Aurora - that is if he could find her. 

He passed his chance on suiting up, thinking that the armor is way too heavy if he’s just there to retrieve his sister and get her home, and heads to the meadow.

It’s a cloudy day, the rolls and rolls of grey clouds are folded against each other in a sad and almost saggy way, its texture reminding Yunho of his old dog’s skin. He misses that dog. Poor little fellow.

The meadow is green, supposedly, and empty of anyone and everyone  _ but  _ Aurora - since that weird little kid enjoys loneliness and the serene sound of nature a little bit too much. That was supposedly. Yet, what Yunho sees with his own two eyes are something. . . something a little more than that.

His little sister is right there, right in front of his eyes, lying on the grass -  _ stripped down to nothing but her nightgown, her feet exposed to the almost stormy atmosphere with a few  _ other  _ men surrounding her.  _ Her cheeks are tear-stained, her wrists are bruised, and there’s a cut on her lips. Yunho feels like his blood froze as the feeling of unsettlement reaches back up to the tip of his tongue, and his heart stops beating for a few, quiet seconds. He doesn’t need to look at the situation longer to understand whatever the fuck is going on, and without thinking, his sword started  _ dancing _ .

Maybe he did black out, as he would claim in the future. Maybe he didn’t.

Maybe Yunho is fully aware when he grabs the first guy by the back of his neck, using the shock factor to unsheathe his sword into the center of the man’s beating heart only to throw him against the next man, who fell from the velocity of the first man being slammed against his front - and then Yunho does the same exact thing. At the corner of his eyes, he can see Aurora shaking in fear in the corner, unable to do anything but beg for her brother to stop with little sob-engulfed whimpers. 

The others aren’t too freshly saved in his memory, but he does remember breaking one’s finger when he was about to runaway and slitting his throat open - a messy move, though effective nonetheless. When he was done, almost half of his body was covered in the warmth of fresh, red blood, and he felt like a murderer. 

Aurora did what she had to do to save him from the blame, but at the end of that day, Yunho finds himself staggering all the way to Yeosang’s office to report the fact that there has been a mass murder on the meadow not that far away from his home, and he’s responsible of it.

“But Yunho-”

“Prince Yeosang,  _ please _ ,” said the man who was mentioned as he cuts Yeosang off, tears brimming on the edge of his eyes, his hands shaking. “Please- I know it’s too much to ask for once but please,  _ please  _ forgive me. I wasn’t in my right mind as I attacked those men but I did it to protect. . . my family.”

Yunho looks up at the royalty, finding Yeosang’s eyes through his fogged and tear-filled ones. He feels like he’s unable to see clearly and he might just be looking at Yeosang’s nose, but what does he care? He just felt the need to come clean and maybe, just maybe, be spared of his sins. For once. 

“I understand, Yunho,” Yeosang puts a hand over the taller’s shoulder, and Yunho stops sobbing right then and there. “You- you what?”   
Yeosang nods, solemnly.

“I  _ understand _ . Though the rest of the people might not, my mother is going to be added into those people and if she ever heard this you might have to go through a court filled with people who wanted your father to die miserable and might use this chance to throw your ass in jail or worse, killed-” Yeosang was cut off by Wooyoung’s protest over the prince saying ‘ass’, but he ignores his friend this once, “so I’m going to give you a ticket out. Out of this place, so you can run away as long as you want without the guilt eating you up.  _ Supposedly, as I can’t guarantee how you’ll feel _ . But what do you say, Jeong Yunho?” 

Yunho is overwhelmed, especially when he took a step back to realize that Yeosang wasn’t alone in the room. There’s Wooyoung by his side, and two other - surprisingly familiar, but he can’t put a finger on it - men. The two new faces are looking up at him, jaws locked in a shocked position, but one’s eyes flicker here and there between his face and his wrist, and Yunho moved to hide the mark of the compass, shyly.

His father told him that most people think the prophecy is a curse now, and that’s the mental image he grew up with.

“A- a ticket. . .” Yunho clears his throat, “out?”

Wooyoung nods vigorously, humming a little ‘uh huh!’, even though the question wasn’t exactly meant for him. “To freedom, Yunho,” Yeosang says, his eyes cunning and demanding agreement. 

Maybe nodding was a bad choice after all. Maybe he was signing his soul to the demons, but he doesn’t need to know that yet. 

“O-okay?” he stutters, mind cussing himself out for going too fast with his decisions. “Where. . . where are we going?”

“To find the Treasure,” Yeosang tilts his head to Hongjoong’s direction, “if I heard correctly?”

*

Hongjoong is on the edge of his seat. It’s nothing like a new concept for him, since he and his buttocks slide all the way down to the side of the saddle once and the horse was way too tired to kick him back up (moral of the story is Hongjoong always slides all the way down until he’s sitting on the edge of his seat, but that’s not a literal term that we are using right now). He’s on the edge of his seat because one; all these people around him look at him for opinions, on where to go, how to build a tent, where to stop and buy food, who to punch in the face, who to flirt with so they could maybe get some free rooms - at least one of their dicks are about to get very busy at some nights, and in some  _ other  _ cities, maybe two at once (but that’s a maximum, please). And if that doesn’t drain him of his entire strength to go on and about as their tiny but expanding group’s unofficial  _ captain _ , this situation right now is going to kill him.

Yunho isn’t religious, but he feels the need to pray to some other-worldly ruler of the heavens about his sins - which did include killing almost the same amount of people in his team right now, so Hongjoong lets him pray in a nearby religion-based building. He wouldn’t say that it’s a church, per se, but it is where people usually go to pray. Hongjoong has seen some shady types of people walk in and out of the building, though, and it worried him a little bit since he’s never prayed. . . to anyone or anything at all, and witnessing Yunho get down on his knees in front of particularly nothing in general alarmed him to no end.

_ What if a demon decided that Yunho got on his knees to suck his dick?  _ Is the main point of Hongjoong’s uneasiness, though, and he decided to wait in the farthest corner, in the dark, away from Seonghwa and Wooyoung, who are standing behind Yunho to wait. . . just waiting. Hongjoong deemed his own mind impure after a couple of peaceful minutes, and he lounges around at the seats that are provided. 

He doesn’t know why he’s so on edge either.

Yeosang left their sides a couple of hours ago as he was planning to go to the communal bath (since he felt the need to feel as clean as possible all the time after months of dirty work and stealing, the least he can do is to clean his physical situation), and that didn’t make Hongjoong feel like he’s about to lose a kitten. He observed his surroundings, deemed it safe enough for each of them to scatter here and there for the night before they return to their inns safely; and Yeosang took off without a word to any of them but Wooyoung, and then the Yunho-situation happened.

Hongjoong wanted to get the fuck out, too, but Seonghwa held him with his gaze when Yunho looks about as anxiety-filled as a little puppy being separated from his mother at birth. So Hongjoong decided to tag along, until he himself experienced the same anxiety at the sight of a prostitute leaving the building they’re headed towards (a very obvious career by the way, Hongjoong doesn’t assume people’s careers just by pulling shit out of his asshole, here) and he went “I don’t think it’s safe? For us to be here?” and Wooyoung shot him with a “I didn’t know you’re uncomfortable with the sight of prostitutes. They’re just looking for a living, I’m sure you’ve been  _ with  _ worse, Joong,” which led him to a self-defense which in return exposed his aggression towards believing in the entity people call a ‘God’. Seonghwa backed him up, explaining how an event led most of their people to be very against being religious, and they settled with Hongjoong staying all the way at the very back while Wooyoung and Seonghwa stay with Yunho until the taller is done confessing his sins.

That is until a young man, possibly younger than Hongjoong, approaches him on his seat. He’s wearing a high-collared uniform, and his face is kind, unintimidating - and almost sad. Tired, maybe, but Hongjoong has seen far too many tired faces in his life to decipher whether this man is sad or tired and or both. At the same time. Hongjoong sits up, deciding that it would be impolite if he lets the young man sit right next to his feet, and he smiles at him.

A split second thought haunted Hongjoong, about the nasty ghost-stories he usually hears about these kind of places, and the blood in him froze for a moment before it returns to its normal temperature when the young man starts speaking. Ghosts don’t speak - kindly, at least - right?   
“Somehow,” he starts, and Hongjoong lends his ears to listen. “You all feel familiar to me,” the young man finishes, eyebrows furrowed to take in Hongjoong’s face in the dark. Hongjoong mirrors the motion, now overly sensitive to the fact that ‘Hey, this man looks familiar to me, too.’

“Huh,” Hongjoong hums, letting his eyes take in the young man’s details. He’s learned to never question even the weirdest of things, though, in the 9 months he’s been together with the rest of his friends, venturing out into the world to try and find something as weird as everything they’ve found during their adventure.  _ Maybe?  _ Hongjoong thought, smiling to himself.

“This isn’t all of you,” the man continues, “right?”

Hongjoong shakes his head, eyes focused back to his friends, now sitting behind a very much serious Yunho. Seonghwa looks like he’s taking in every single detail of the tinted glasses all around him, and Hongjoong was tempted to call the place a church for the n-th time that day, but Wooyoung persisted in stopping him every time, since (and this is a literal quote) “We don’t know if calling it a church would be offensive or not, please take the locals’ feelings into consideration, prince Hongjoong,” and Hongjoong would whack him in the head for calling him ‘prince’ just to annoy him. 

“Do you work here?” Hongjoong shoots the man a question, and he nods, if only hesitantly. The man’s cheeks are hollowed, and his lips are pale. Hongjoong begins to feel the anxiety he managed to push down rise back up onto the back of his throat, and he stops the need to throw up.  _ If this is a fucking cult he’s getting the fuck out- _

“But not really,” the man huffs. “I’m just homeless. And unless I take care of this place and devote my entire life to protecting it from harm, they might come back to kill me.”

Hongjoong feels his heart clenching, or maybe that’s his oesophagus - and he leans away to take a better look at the young man. “Wha-”

“It’s nothing as sinister as I put it though,” the other smiles, forcing a chuckle to bubble up. “It’s just how most religions are. Selfish, merciless. I’m Choi Jongho by the way,” he stretches a hand out to grab Hongjoong’s, “hope I didn’t scare you away. It’s nice to have friends to talk to every once in a while.”

Hongjoong’s mind goes empty. Choi Jongho, as in  _ the  _ Choi Jongho? Another one with the mark of the compass? The other half of the Choi Jongho he met up there in the Utopia?

_ That’s  _ why he looks so familiar yet so different, what the fuck are they feeding this Jongho? He looks like he’s seconds away from disappearing into thin air with how bony and unhealthy he looks! And how can someone be that pale?

“K-Kim Hongjoong,” he replies, trying to hide the very evident scanning of his eyes against Jongho’s entire physique. Hongjoong stops himself, reminding his impolite brain that in some cultures it is considered rude to just. . . openly  _ look  _ at someone up and down. 

Jongho chuckles again, a little more genuine. 

“Ah,” he nods, “even the name sounds familiar.”

Hongjoong was about to call their friends over, put up another offer as he’s been doing to his other teammates throughout this journey, but the sound of a door slamming open right beside them stops him from doing so. 

“Choi Jongho! I brought you your food!”

The stretch of the bowstring is an all-too-familiar tune for Choi San, and with one of his eyes closed and the other focusing onto the target’s chest, his job is marked as done.

Even before the arrow slashes through thin air and stabs the target’s heart and took him out, he is someone well-known to be precise, none of his targets ever made it out alive, and other, very kind reputation spread around by people who wants to do dirty things without getting their own hands splattered by the blood of their supposed enemies.  _ Supposed  _ here means that San has an experience of being paid to kill someone just because the thought of that person dead sets this madman on fire and he’s way too happy to even check if San  _ did  _ actually kill the man - and even though he won’t usually judge, that time, San left the room only after pulling a face.

Luckily for him this time, the guy who paid him to kill the irrelevant rich man from earlier is pretty normal. Almost as mysterious as himself, and that intrigued San a little bit - but his muscles are sore from kneeling all day in a building right across the rich man’s house and he smells like the smoke of food that wafted all the way up to his hiding place and he thinks he deserves a little break. So he didn’t further investigate his boss for the day, since he deemed it harder than usual. The man was wearing something that looked more like a futuristic uniform, and San wondered why he couldn’t kill the rich man himself since he looks at least  _ experienced  _ (don’t ask San what kind of experience he meant, he himself doesn’t know what’s on his mind).

The town is busier at night, since a little summer parade is being held and lanterns are adorning every corner of each building and even among them, shining down on the busied streets like little soft yellowed lights of the fireflies. San headed back to where he was staying, the attic of an inn run by his great aunt’s younger cousin, and he’s been staying there to help around for ages - when he’s not doing his killing things. He likes to pretend that he’s still the same, happy and unbothered little boy he was once, all those years ago. And he can pretend all he wants with his great aunt’s younger cousin and her family (he called her auntie for short) and little Lia, who is auntie’s only daughter who called him ‘shan’, the lisp being the center of attention.

He disposes his gloves in the bonfire while he passes the city central, nodding politely to a tourist that saw what he did and eyed him suspiciously - and San proceeds to bend over and pick up another glove-esque shaped trash lying nearby to throw  _ that  _ in the fire, too. He continues for a while until he can sense the attention subsiding, luckily, since the fireworks are beginning to pop in here and there, and then he continues his walk home. The bow and arrow are stored somewhere else, and on his way back - his eyes caught something else. Well, someone.

That someone is Yeosang, who is calmly making his way back  _ coincidentally  _ to the inn San’s auntie is running - since they’re all staying there for the night. He’s wearing the robe you’d usually wear on summer parades, though San notice the flushed pink of the other’s skin and concluded that he’s back from either a sauna or just a really long, thorough bath. Yeosang’s dangling earrings are threatening to fall off his right ear, and San purses his lips in a process of thinking. 

Luckily for him and unluckily for Yeosang (well not  _ that  _ unlucky since we need San to proceed with this story), San is one smooth motherfucker. 

He crosses the road, calculating how he should proceed with caution since his hot-guy-tingles is telling him that Yeosang might be a little more sensitive than normal people usually are. Before Yeosang is able to feel the absence of his usually busy earrings adorning his ears, San is already putting on his best show of acting with Yeosang’s jewelry on his hands, something he’s been so passionate about ever since he was a young kid. 

“Excuse m-” San lets his voice cut off, his shoulder bumping into someone who is going in a different direction. He bows politely to the man who cursed out loud, because hitting San’s firm shoulder sure isn’t a lovely ride. “Excuse me, Sir? Sir!” he calls out once again, and this time, he can see Yeosang flinching a little bit before stopping, hesitant on looking back to experience the shame of thinking he’s the one being called on when it’s not. 

San taps on Yeosang’s shoulder, paying attention to little details as in making his breathing shorter and to intake a little bit sharper every time to give an effect that he’s been chasing after Yeosang for quite some time. Yeosang turns around, eyebrows furrowed for a second and San can see his fists clenching underneath his baggy sleeves, but he unclenched it right when he sees San’s face. “Oh?” Yeosang’s round eyes calms down, and San shows him his infamous perfect, dimpled smile he uses to win everyone’s heart in preparation to deliver his line.

“You’re the guy who was at the inn!”

Yeosang’s exclamation caught him off guard, if only a little, and San almost lets a little ‘huh?’ slips from his mouth while his brain racks the twenty possibilities of this beautiful man actually being more of a threat than a chance to fuck at this point, and he steps backwards a little to cover up that fact. He settles with a, “Yes, I work at the inn you’re staying in, Sir. I didn’t know you saw me?”

And Yeosang nods, even more polite than what San is used to.

“I saw you rushing down the stairs when I was at the restaurant. I’m Kang Yeosang,” he smiles, stretching a covered-hand out, waiting for a handshake to be returned. San stands there, stunned by how open the man in front of him is and by the name that slipped out of his mouth. A genuine ‘what the fuck?’ is painting a picture in his brain right now, and he’s about a minute away from malfunctioning. “K-Kang Yeosang?” he licks his lips to stop them from drying. Why the fuck is he so lucky  _ and  _ unlucky today?

Yeosang hums, forcefully taking San’s rather unoccupied hand to return his long overdue handshake. “Yes. And you are?”

“Oh-” San shakes his head, only now realizing the fact that it is rude to leave someone hanging, especially if they’re being kind. “I’m Choi San,” he takes Yeosang’s hand to lightly tap them on his own forehead, and if Yeosang is surprised over the cultural difference, he stays quiet about it. 

“Nice to meet you too, Choi San,” Yeosang chirps, though in a low voice - as if to avoid anyone else from hearing them. San nods, a soft little smile adorning his face which was the result of his brain’s uneasy thoughts. “So- Yeosang?” he reaches inside his back pockets, handing the jewelry he held onto for approximately five minutes and a half to its owner - since he thought he’d face some more harsh rejection and even a slap, not the literal prince of a famous country himself  _ and  _ the fact that he’s so open and almost a little too kind even when there’s a bounty for his head. Well, maybe Yeosang doesn’t  _ know  _ there’s a bounty for his head - but still. 

“You dropped this a little while ago,” San continues, and Yeosang looks shocked (but in the softest way possible with his rounded lips and scrunched nose and annoyed ‘tsk’ and everything), before he leans in to pat San across his shoulder. “Thank you, Choi San. I’m a little reckless sometimes. My friends have told me from time to time that I need to keep my little important things in a safer, secluded spot when I go to public places but I’ve never felt the need to listen, you know?”

While talking, Yeosang is so invested in thanking his ‘saviour’ every now and then, and San is about an inch away from combusting at how pretty the man is up close. But he’s even closer to combusting when he thinks about the fact that Yeosang’s head is worth literally more than his entire life leading up to this point, and he’s so close to him that he could just. . . pull him aside and-

_ No, but something’s just not right. _

San gnaws at his lips, eyes focused on the floor in front of him while Yeosang’s side is still pressed against his in a close proximity pressured by the amount of people swarming outside at that hour, and he gets an overwhelming wash of guilt for even having a fleeting thought of killing  _ prince  _ Yeosang and claiming the bounty.

Is it because the other is a Prince?

No, he’s killed prince and princesses alike before, even irrelevant rich men who aren’t so much different than little Yeosang here. He’s killed beautiful men and women, too, without getting too attached. So what the fuck is  _ this  _ newfound feeling of guilt? He didn’t even know he’s able to feel guilt anymore?

There’s a throbbing on his skin, one where he wrapped bandages from around his wrist all the way up to his shoulder. San cringes from the sudden shoot of pain, and now the throbbing is growing at an alarming rate. If the  _ thing  _ is acting up again, he might have to amputate his whole fucking arm. But that’s just ridiculous. How is he supposed to continue his duties as a reliable assassin with only one arm-  _ fuck, that hurts a little too much. _

“Choi San?” Yeosang’s voice returns to his consciousness, and he’s looking down at his wrist. Somehow, this contact calms the throbbing down - and San was about to scold himself for literally falling in love with this stranger he thought was pretty and intended to flirt with and fuck around for a little bit. He was supposed to rest, too.  _ See, Choi San, this is why you need to train your focus on one thing. Now your hand is hurting and your heart fell in love with a random guy your brain hasn’t even agreed to fall for yet. _

“Just San is okay,” he managed a chuckle, and the stinging pain returned when Yeosang’s eyes left his wrist. “You calling me Choi San sounds like my auntie when she’s about to whoop my ass for making my cousin cry.”

Yeosang looks at his face, concerned, but stifled a laugh either way.

“Okay. San. I need you to be really honest with me,” the man whispers, back to lowering his voice so only the two of them can hear his words - while his fingers are busy putting his earrings back on. San is distracted for a while before nodding, his other hand still wrapped around his bandaged wrist.

“Do you have a compass-shaped  _ thing  _ on your wrist?”

“Kim Hongjoong!”

“Kang Yeosang!”

The way Yeosang stomps inside the restaurant is more determined than mad, and for a second Hongjoong thought he was about to take responsibility for whatever pissed Yeosang off while he was gone to the communal bath.  _ Or sauna _ , his mind added when he sees what kind of robe Yeosang is wearing, and he frowns when another young man follows suit, right behind his friend - eyes cast downwards in something akin to shame and or  _ pain.  _ Noticing it would be the latter, Seonghwa, who was behind Hongjoong this whole time, stood up to approach them.

“Uh,” Yeosang holds a hand in front of Seonghwa and the older stops, looking intently at the prince’s hand. “Slowly, please. This wounded cat almost scratched me when I tried to help him and he’s  _ just  _ begun to trust me. I think the presence of another person around him would,” Yeosang leans in to whisper in Seonghwa’s ear, “scare him.”

“Did you just call me a cat?” San whines from behind Yeosang before he buries his head onto Yeosang’s back once again, seemingly trying to fight the pain that returns to his wrist. “You were acting like a wounded cat. You were trying to scratch my eyeballs out,” Yeosang responds without looking back, only ushering Seonghwa to get a scissor and some other herbs he usually has in his bag. San mutters a quick ‘sorry’, and Hongjoong looks around him to find Wooyoung’s eyes looking at him, as lost as he is but less curious. 

Wooyoung and Yeosang sort of have this telepathic thing going on, so he’s not about to question them further.

“Joong,” Yeosang calls for him, and this forces Hongjoong to cut his eye-contact with Wooyoung and face the other. “He has the mark of the compass on his wrist. Apparently the people here despise the prophecy with all of their heart and souls and told people that it’s a curse from the heavens and that they’ll die before they’re 20 or something, so he’s been-” Yeosang chokes on air, “he’s been trying to  _ scrape  _ it out.”

Seonghwa’s head snaps towards them, and he hurried himself to sit in front of the two - with San now sitting on the chair, his head slammed on the table while he beats his upper arm up to divert the pain from his mind and one of Yeosang’s arms encircled around his shoulder, patting him in a comforting motion.

“He’s been what?” Hongjoong grimaces, looking back and forth between San and Wooyoung, who grew more and more afraid of San’s pained noises he looks like he himself is about to cry. Wooyoung inches away from the crowd, hiding himself in the corner of the room where he can cover his ears with his hands and tone down his need to run away from that place. He needs Yeosang right about now, but his friend is doing something to help other people in need and he understands that. He can’t be clinging to Yeosang 24/7. He needs to grow up. 

Seonghwa catches Yeosang’s attention when he mouths ‘What’s his name?’ quietly as a question before he leans further on the table, whispering in a parental voice to San - who is far too gone for his own good. “San?”

All the young man does is hum, which isn’t too clear either with the fact that he’s trying to hold himself from crying too hard his cries are reduced to little whines - but Seonghwa took it as a response. “Is it okay if I cut your bandage open? Maybe changing it to a new one would help you a lot.”

San looks up at Seonghwa, his eyes teary and red and his brows still furrowed before he looks back at Yeosang when a whine escapes his lips and his head falls back on the table - this time still keeping an eye contact with Yeosang. “It’s okay, I trust him. His name is Park Seonghwa and he’s a very talented medic. You’ll feel better in no time, I promise,” Yeosang coos, as if he’s talking to a scared child instead of someone  _ possibly  _ his age, but maybe it’s a habit he has from talking to Wooyoung. Speaking of Wooyoung-

Yeosang lets his gaze take a little walk around the room to find Wooyoung in the farthest corner, near the window, his eyes focused on the food stall outside and his feet dangling from the high chair (though it could very well reach the ground) and his hands covering his ears. He sighs, pursing his lips in thought.

“Woo?”

Surprisingly, Wooyoung - despite singing a very loud song to distract himself and covering his ears as hard as he can - heard Yeosang’s call, and almost immediately he hurries over to Yeosang’s side, a little smile playing on the corner of his lips. His eyes are quivering in uneasiness, though, since he doesn’t really like loud noises  _ especially  _ one of people in pain, but his hands found their way around Yeosang’s unoccupied ones (he’s too scared to make any contact with San, apparently) and he’s settled enough. “Yes?” he answers after a bit of hesitation. 

Yeosang motions to San with his chin, since both of his hands are currently occupied with comforting his best friend and  _ new  _ friend - both who are in pain, one mentally and the other physically. “This is Choi San,” he continues, and Wooyoung takes a peek at San from Yeosang’s shoulder, waving at him though he knows the other is unable to see right now. “He’s also struggling with not being accepted for who he is by society. I think you two will get along really well.”

Wooyoung looks up at Yeosang, hope flickering in his eyes. “Us?” he asks in a small voice, and Yeosang raises his eyebrows before nodding. “Yeah. But a bit later, after we find out what causes him pain, okay? Don’t you want to help our new friend heal? You’re usually good at that,” Yeosang runs a hand through Wooyoung’s head, and Wooyoung takes note of how comforting it feels. Wooyoung smiled giddily at the praise, “I  _ am _ ! I’ll help Choi San!”

Wooyoung stood up from his seat beside Yeosang, pulled his chair out all the way and brought them to the other side where he positions himself beside San, who is now looking at Seonghwa through one of his eyes as the doctor cuts his bandage open. He knows how ugly the scar mark is going to look, especially since he’s never given it time to heal. Maybe it’s infected and maybe it’s his own fault.

_ Oh? _

San brings his head up when all of the sudden, a pair of arms wrapped around his torso. It’s not Yeosang’s, apparently, since the other is still by his right side and one of his arms is still present around his shoulder. He looks over to his left, then, to find Wooyoung hugging him with a determined look on his face, and he tries to greet him the only way he can. “N-nice to meet you. I-I’m Choi San,” he gives the person who is wrapped around him a little nod, the corner of his eyes twitching from the little shots of pain that are reducing at a very high rate. 

“I know!” the person replies in a sing-song tone, and San can hear Yeosang chuckle beside him. “I’m Jung Wooyoung, and I’m going to help you feel better!”

With that, Wooyoung removed one of his hands to start petting San’s head, something he learned from Yeosang because he does it a lot and Wooyoung likes head pats. “There, there,” Wooyoung continues, his voice small, “it’s going to be okay.”

San threw him a content smile since his voice failed him when he wanted to thank Wooyoung a few seconds earlier, and he looks at the other side to find Yeosang’s fond smile.  _ Fuck that. He might be in pain but his heart is most definitely not going to be. _

Seonghwa’s gasp made San cringe inwardly, the shame of having someone else see his attempts of scraping off whatever it is society frowned upon coming back in waves, now stronger than his pain. 

“Hongjoong, look,” Seonghwa mutters. “The mark of the compass is still there, it- it’s. . . it’s renewing itself?”

It’s San’s turn to snap his head up this time, watching in horror as whatever pain he experienced subsiding as the mark returns to his wrist, one he tried peeling off all those months ago - only for it to return to his  _ otherwise  _ dominant hand. How the fuck did it re-grow? Is it even growing? Why’d it heal so fast? Did the pain come from the mark returning? It must’ve been. 

The skin around the mark is pinkish, as if it’s some new skin forced to stick on his hands or he’s just been tatted a few hours ago - but neither of those things happened, and it must’ve been something else.

San catches Hongjoong(?)’s gaze upon him, and he took the chance to ask  _ him  _ a question, since he was the one Yeosang first looked for when they got there. “What the fuck  _ am  _ I?”

Hongjoong scrunches his nose up, a little confused on how he’s supposed to answer this man’s question without setting the whole country on fire by notifying them on the ‘mark of the compass’, only able to exist because of the prophecy. How the fuck did they end up in a country which hated their guts?

Ah, right. To find Choi San.

_ And the other two. _

“Uh-” Hongjoong scratches his head. “Let’s. . . talk more upstairs, shall we? My friend Yunho’s room is one of the biggest you gave us, and he’s there all alone.”

San tilts his head, wondering how this Hongjoong guy knew he worked here.  _ Was he  _ that  _ obvious when he left the inn to proceed on his assassinating duties? Or whatever the fuck? _

“I’ll only get my answer from you, am I?” he asks, and Hongjoong shrugs. “Well, maybe Yeosang  _ would  _ tell you if you promised to suck his dick, but unless you’re already planning to-”

“Hongjoong,” Yeosang deadpans, but stole a second to send a wink San’s way, even then. 

“If you  _ are _ , you’ll still need a secluded area. So we’ll have to go upstairs either way,” Seonghwa adds gasoline to fire with a sly smile, as per usual, and leads them all to the stairs. Wooyoung is still happily attached to San’s torso, and the other doesn’t mind as much as everyone thinks he would've, so Wooyoung stays there the whole time.


	5. Say My Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The assassin and his origins, or such.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't usually do notes where I talk to the audience, but hi! How are you enjoying your ride thus far? I uploaded this objectively short chapter since I have a very busy week ahead, starting tomorrow, so this note is a little heads up that the future chapters are going to have to wait a little longer! But I promise I'll be back! Until then, comments are very appreciated since I really look forward to those every time I update a story, but do not feel pressured :D!!  
> Enjoy,,, <3

Yunho is sitting by the edge of his own bed by the time they were finished introducing themselves to the newcomer by the name of Choi San and convinced him -  _ although Yunho is not too sure that he’s convinced _ \- that the prophecy is just a prophecy. There’s no curse about it (though here, in this very sentence, Seonghwa cringed inwardly), and there’s nothing that he’s supposed to do about it. But San, being the smartass that he is, disagreed. Yunho is amazed at how well of a fight he puts up to the rest of them for his own beliefs, and he briefly wondered why none of them put up a fight as hard as Choi San did; and then he realized that it is caused by the rest of them being entangled with a relationship or are indebted to Hongjoong and Yeosang - in a way.

And those two are put in a pedestal by their society, one which made them not supposed to be declined, though luckily for them, neither Hongjoong or Yeosang misused their authority.

San is still spitting out facts left and right about why he’s not going to ever leave town, mentioning the facts that he owed the old lady that he calls auntie (which he added, “So apparently, auntie could just be someone completely unrelated to me?” with tears on his eyes) a lot of the things he’s become in his life -  _ if you remember the fact that he’s an assassin this fact becomes terrifying  _ \- and that the inn won’t thrive as well as it used to without him.

But Yeosang had to counterattack him on that last point, as per usual.

“What do you mean? Based on the calluses on your hands, you’re used to working in a different field rather than just fixing people’s bed sheets and disposing them to the laundromat all the way down town. Unless you’re a hunter, which,” Yeosang leans in to focus on San’s hands, knocking Wooyoung lightly on his way, “-hm. No you’re not. Why would you smell strongly of barbecue and roasted tea mixed with a bunch of other different food if you spend your days out there in the woods?”

_ Shit _ , San curses himself for being distracted by Yeosang’s beauty on the way home that he forgot to change his outer clothes - at least - one that he wore during his spying work on the man he just killed, not that long ago. Probably 1:27 hours ago, now? Who even is counting? Definitely not him.

“But we spent some time outside before you triggered my compass-thingy and rebirthed those marks I tried to get rid off,” San retaliates, raising an eyebrow at Yeosang, “I bet you smell like the summer parade too, good Sir.”

Yeosang shoves his baggy sleeves on San’s face, his own expression victorious. 

“Bet you I  _ don’t _ . We were only there for approximately 5 minutes at most, first when I saw you and your interesting bandaged hand across the street and thought you were a burglar and tricked you in with my dangling earrings. Didn’t think it’ll work so well but am I glad it did,” Yeosang huffs, and San rolls his eyes harmlessly.  _ Yeosang’s clothes smells so much like him San is about to flip off- _

Oh, right. So Yeosang only thought he was a burglar?

“Okay, fine. You got me,” San chuckles, shoving Yeosang’s hand away as if he doesn’t  _ like  _ it. He wants to cry almost immediately, regretting the action. Yeosang pulled a face at his statement, though, as if he doesn’t really understand what San meant. 

“How do you  _ know  _ these kinds of things, Sang? I swear to God your brain is the only thing we can rely on from now on,” Hongjoong mutters, stifling a chuckle while looking absolutely blown away by Yeosang’s show of observation. Yunho rolls his eyes in front of him, his back tired of being leaned on by Hongjoong’s feet; which aren’t really busy with anything at the time being. “I thought you  _ just  _ said you didn’t believe in God,” Yunho elbowed Hongjoong’s calf and the smaller whines.

“Yeosang has been going to school since he was five. He’s a little too much of a genius for anyone to fool,” Wooyoung chimes in, voice muffled by his squished cheeks on the pillow. “Hongjoong goes to school too, though?” Yeosang joins the conversation, and San heaved a breath of relief for the fact that the older’s focus is no longer on him.

“Yeah, but Hongjoong doesn’t pay attention. He’s always been too busy visiting everyone else and killing his time with anything else other than school because his ‘country is being mean and everyone should be as smart as the Princes.’ He ends up being as uneducated as everyone else instead of informing us about the world, though.”

“Seonghwa!” Hongjoong threw a pillow at his friend, who was exposing him with a facial expression almost as flat as the wall behind them.

San feels a smile threatening to spill from his insides, wondering how it feels to know a royalty who is unafraid to be surrounded by other people. He’s taken aback by the sudden feeling of nostalgia, and his mind is back to roaming around the darkness that his soul was drowned by - something he didn’t expect to return.

Choi San didn’t try to scrape his mark because of the superstitions he’s been hearing all around him. He tried to scrape them off because he  _ remembers. _

He’s the only one who remembers - he memorized each and every single one of their facial features everytime he sees the same people he knows before the split every night in his dreams, but he keeps forgetting how they look in the morning. He’s been stressed out from trying to piece together all the scattered informations he received every night, but noting every single thing about the  _ people  _ right when he wakes up just seconds away from the memory slipping away from his cursed mind is way too hard for him, and one day, without him knowing it, the people felt like they’ve never existed. 

His dreams proceeded forward, telling him things like how he’s the chosen one, how he’s going to succeed one day and how everything he has is a gift from the ones that are all the way above - and his religious adopted parents (they were still alive at the time) told him that it was God. It was that other-worldly being he’s never seen or prayed to before, and he never remembered that himself from the dreams ever believed in the existence of a god either, but he respected them. 

Choi San was raised by his  _ parents  _ to respect everyone in their own domain, and though since an early age he knows well enough that they aren’t his actual parents, he respected them, too. Loved them, even, since they were two very nice people who were overly oppressed by society since San looked nothing like them and his mother has never looked pregnant before he suddenly just popped out and lived by their side as their little son.

There was a revolution in his country, once, when he was twelve.

By then, his father led a group of people from the factory he worked at - led them somewhere they’ll never return home from. San was crushed, and even more so since he had to see his mother drown in her own sea of tears and sadness, slowly descending into madness. She treated him like he wasn’t worth his own life, and even then - the only thing that kept San going was the promise that he’ll meet the right people one day. He will, and he’s not about to give up before the thing on his wrist told him that he’s done enough. 

One of those days where he endured a harsh beating, some people from the kingdom broke the door to his house down and took his mother away. San did all he could to stop them, but there was no use. His heart wasn’t in it. 

He had to be true to himself, and he’s suddenly guilty of the overwhelming joy and the feeling of finality when he sees his mother get dragged away, possibly for him to never see again, and he felt free. 

Until he wound up in his auntie’s basement.

No, not this one he’s currently living with. This one is nice, warm and fluffy like a welcoming teddy bear - but the one before, the aunt who was his mother’s little sister,  _ that  _ was a whole other story. Choi San knew that his innermost feelings who told him to not believe his mother’s little sister is not to be trusted, but then again, her physical display of abuse has always been an alarming red flag to him. 

Those were times when he endured days on end without food, more often than not sleeping on the streets, getting rained on since the door was shut on him before 7PM just because it’s ‘over his curfew’. He tried his best to get whatever leftover food the restaurants nearby had and return home earlier than 7PM, but as the days proceeded, he’s more often locked outside than let inside, and by time his adventure to find a roof over his head led him to the inn.

His town is small, though it is a part of some decently stable country. Since it’s too small, though, almost everyone and everything is related to each other - and that’s how San found the auntie who has the inn. He’s never seen her before, but she’s seen him (apparently when he was just a baby, after his mother found him, god knows where), and she took pity on him. San was, and  _ still  _ is, a hard worker. His existence around the inn helped more than the old lady thought it would, and the people liked him so much that on his seventh month working there and staying at their smallest room, San was given the attic - a room they used to store their old, unused stuff, since they bought room necessities for a soon to be son that ended up dying from miscarriage.

San got rid of all the old baby stuff (it creeped him out for a bit too long), and built himself a homey room. That was almost five years ago, and during all those hectic years - he’s never seen his usual dreams any more. And he was more than glad, especially when his eyes travelled to his wrist and realized that living with the mark on his hand isn’t so bad if nothing weird comes from it, until one fateful day.

All the mentally scarring trauma he’s experienced ever since he was a child returned to him when he was just a fifteen-year-old, inexperienced little boy, and this deep rooted his feral need to kill  _ almost  _ every single rich kid possible. 

It was one sunny day, and little curious Lia was begging to go with him to the market since it looked fun for her to do adult things and by that she means; going out without her mother or father. Her parents agreed, though San was busy flipping here and there to try and subtly tell them that he’s going to be too anxious if Lia is around since she’s a bit too hyperactive at the time and his eyesight isn’t really the best in the world and if she slipped from his clutch he’s going to lose it in the middle of a packed marketplace and he’ll fucking cry - but they said it’s going to be okay since it’s too hot outside, not  _ everyone  _ is going to swarm the market!

Thankfully, they were correct.

There weren’t that many people around, but not for the reason they initially thought. The stalls are absent from supposed merchants and their busied partners, though almost every single stall was filled to the brim with either fruits or vegetables - seemingly untouched. San grimaced for a little bit while her clutch on Lia’s shoulder tightened, and his scanning eyes are halted when he feels the little girl’s arm across her torso, trying to stop him from moving.

“Look,” she points with her index finger, somehow shaking lightly. San has never seen Lia this alarmed before, and apparently it’s for all the right reasons. 

There was a policy at the time - something quite unreasonable if you use your logic to think about, but it was a policy nonetheless. No family, especially if they’re below the standard used by society to be seen as ‘stable’ (though maybe overflown by riches is a more precise statement), are allowed to have more than one child. This explains why every kid San’s age always looked at him weird, maybe because Lia’s parents always insisted that San isn’t their actual son and they  _ do  _ technically have one daughter and this young man is working for them.  _ Though they treat him as a real son.  _

With that policy in mind, Lia saw a soldier. Now, soldiers aren’t really the greatest people to be around, unless you’re seated at the highest seats in the kingdom or are one their own. The soldiers are some of the scariest people ever known to mankind if you’re anything aside from those two, and right now, San and Lia is close enough to being nothing. 

The soldiers are brooding, seemingly mad about something to one, poor merchant that probably did nothing wrong but existing in the wrong place and time - but one of them was looking in their direction. This caused San to panic, and though he tried his best to cover it up, he just can’t. 

Lia sensed the uncomfortable tension spreading like wildfire through his facial expressions, and though she herself is in the middle of a breakdown - she tugged at his sleeves, trying to be as casual as possible. “Hey,” she turns on her heels, “let’s just go.”

“Wait!”

But as we all know, it’s never that easy.

San is still facing the one soldier that is approaching them, the blood in his veins freezing even more when he took notice of the gun swinging around in the soldier’s grip. He looks disgusted with the two young kids, and Lia is still tugging at his sleeves for them to just leave. San doesn’t really think it’s a good idea, though, already running through thirty different scenarios of what the gun will be firing if they so as much show the fact that they’re trying to escape.

“Who do you kids belong to?” the soldier asks, one hand over the gun, stance guarded when he realized San is no force to mess with. The young boy is about the soldier’s height, minus the high hat and arrogantly wide shoulders - and he’s looking at the older man as if he could kill. By this time, though, San has no experience in that department, save for the wild boars and birds he’s shot down a couple times for dinner. 

Lia turns around at this question, face mirroring the boy beside her, and the soldier’s grip on his gun tightens. San’s eyes are now super-glued on  _ that _ , face paled and lips pursed as is brain tries to conjure up the fastest way this problem could be solved. 

“What does that question even mean?” came out of Lia’s offended pride and San  _ literally  _ almost passed out and he flinched as the tip of the weapon came in contact with his shoulder, and the soldier nudged him backwards with it. “I’m talking to you, young man,” the brooding man repeats, the corner of his lips curving upwards in attempt of asserting dominance. “Don’t tell me you’ll let this young lady speak on your behalf. That’s not very much of a gentleman, is it?”

San took offense to that, and his brain blacked out for a second before he’s dragged back into reality when a piece of brick - with Lia’s hands clutching them - came in contact with the soldier’s face and the impact made the man’s nose cracked, loud enough for the two of them to hear. The soldier wailed in pain, alerting  _ maybe  _ the rest of his friends who took off to run after the two kids that are now on their way to escape the mess they’ve entangled themselves in. 

San made sure to keep looking back while they run, but a split second went by where he didn’t and the next thing he knew was the girl he was supposed to be responsible for face planting onto the ground, her hands almost immediately clutching on one of his ankles and San looks back, eyes coming in contact with an armored man, older than the one they’ve encountered - with a face more angry than the previous. He was the one who caught Lia, apparently, and the younger girl was released when he saw San and ran to get him instead (he didn’t know why at the time but as he comes to term with it he concluded that it was the big ass compass on his exposed hand, and the people hated it at the time).

“You’re a cursed little boy, aren’t you? You’re the reason why our crops aren’t growing and why our own King despises us!”

The man was reeling from how much force he puts into his exclamations, and San has had quite enough. In his fifteen-years of living, there’s about one thing San is most sure of, and that is how he’s perfected the arts of  _ kicking.  _ So he did just that, and the man caught his feet only to be met with his entire body as San leaps onto the man’s shoulder to cage him with his own two feet. These men are weak, mostly unfed for days - that’s why they’re always so fucking aggressive all the fucking time (is another one of San’s conclusions), and this took him down enough for the time that it took San to kick his protection helmet open and smash his feet down on the man’s face. 

It satisfied him, weirdly, and he knows it shouldn’t have - but this opportunity was used for him to pick Lia up and started running once again. 

In the next fifteen minutes, he was shot down by one of the other  _ seven  _ soldiers. The world spun around him for the little seconds he’s had before his body came in contact with the ground, and they took Lia away since  _ she  _ looks younger than he does and the one child policy was the only principle these soldiers were acting upon. San was shot right in the middle of his stomach, and with the only strength he got left, came home and cried all night until his aunt and her husband managed to drag Lia back home from the communal jail and patched him up.

San remembered blacking out for almost two weeks after that and woke up feeling like the worst human being on the planet, save for the fact that he  _ also  _ started dreaming about the Choi San he was before the split. 

The first man -  _ well, boy  _ \- who hired him was his age. The boy had the same hair colour that he did, and he looked as tortured as he did, so San decided to give it a go. The boy’s name was Mark Lee, and he asked San to murder whoever he wants to for a whole year of free lunch by the cafeteria he and his family ran, only a few blocks away from San’s inn. It was a weird deal, but Mark Lee was a weird kid (despite how nice he is) and San decided that Mark was sent by the heavens to remind him that being a street vigilante and killing the rich they all ultimately hate is okay, so he did just that.

San was seventeen when he killed the corrupt governor who liked to eye on young girls and kidnapping them - and he drowned that disgusting motherfucker on a river before cutting him apart and rowing all the way to the ocean to dispose of his body. Mark was there, watching, and he helped San dispose of the body and all the other shenanigans you should do when you murder. . . someone. The whole process took them hours (though only San killed, Mark only popped up when it’s time to clean shit up) and hours, and by the time they’re finished, the two young men are roaming the annual parade with a smile on their faces.

It scared San for the first few months, but after noticing that no one came for their asses and sent them to jail - he started casually earning actual money for taking people out. Mark didn’t vanish, he  _ knows  _ what he knows and he sticks around without outing him to the people in charge and San is thankful for that, but he just. . . watches from afar. Looking at Mark gave San an unsettling feeling, since the other is always around but never really took another step to be either his best friend or his enemy as people usually do - so San just lives with the knowledge that Mark  _ knows. _

But that brought him here, to the present day with the room softly decorated with yellowed-lights painted on the walls and another warm body pressed against his legs and an ethereal and other-worldy beautiful young man looking into his eyes with a knowing smile, one he’s only ever seen from Mark Lee and no one else, and the question he’s never been asked before echoing in his ears.

“Choi San,” Yeosang starts, more of a statement than a question. “You’re an assassin, aren’t you?”

San went deaf for a full second, unsure that it’s caused by the shock or the sheer disbelief of the fact that Yeosang is the  _ first  _ one to ever say it to his face this way. Even good ol’ Mark Lee (who watched as he deadass murder someone, by the way) never refered to him as such, so in San’s own twisted mind, he’s not something of the kind. He’s more like a. . . lackey, but the tasks he’s been handed are those which are a little more personal, and  _ maybe  _ sadistic but that’s only if you think too much about it. Which explains why he’s never thought about it. Why he’s never gone out in public anymore in the few weeks where he knows for sure there are courts held outside and posters are plastered to try and find out who this vigilante is and why no one knows a single fucking clue about him. Why he’s always so closed and secluded, even when the kids his age who grew up with their own belief in the world tried to befriend him - unlike what they did when they were a tad bit younger - and he’d decline any sort of deal ever again, just to not look suspicious.

Choi San has been denying the fact that the title assassin is the career he’s been entangled in for years now, and that is the sole reason for his disappearance from the normal world. Not his body physically. In a way, he’s just absent - acting like the floating dust in the middle of existence which no one can really focus on, so either you love him or hate him; he’ll forever exist in the middle.

His ears are blocking out Wooyoung’s questions, unclear whether it was directed to him or literally anyone who heard - but apparently Yeosang answered the younger’s questions as it was his duty to do so.

Yeosang didn’t really meant to give their new friend a shock therapy with his incredible observation skills he isn’t really sure he’s been developing (it’s just been popping out randomly here and there, but Yeosang isn’t really one to complain since it has been useful) - but apparently, a shock therapy is what he gave San instead. The other is gazing off into the wall, and by the time it took for him to return to sanity, questions are flooding here and there and it’s suddenly Yeosang’s job to shield the younger from all of those. He rolls his eyes, making sure that next time he’ll have to drop fact bombs on San when other people aren’t around, to give him a room to breath.

“What’s an assassin, Sang?” Wooyoung scratches his head, not sure why everyone is  _ lowkey  _ freaking out, demanding explanations. “Uh. . . do you want a simple explanation or his entire life story?” was Yeosang’s response, and Wooyoung shrugs, choosing to cling over to his friend. “Either way is fine.”

“Good, because I  _ don’t  _ know his entire life story,” Yeosang cackles, and Wooyoung rolls his eyes harmlessly. “I’m not really sure we have to use the word assassin on San - but he’s a murderer. You know? Those who kill people?” the prince resumes, his focus divided on San only a few inches away from him and Wooyoung, who is sitting like a curious child. A thought went through Yeosang’s head.

“Yeah. Yunho kills people, too,” Wooyoung nods, making said man whip his head towards the two, perched on the middle of Yunho’s bed. Yunho cursed about a little something, but no one’s really paying attention as Yeosang  _ picks  _ Wooyoung up from wherever they were seated at to inch further and further away from the new addition to their group. . . maybe.

“What? What?” Hongjoong chimes in (since he’s now the only one left right in front of San and is tired of the fact that Yeosang seems like he’s got a grip of the situation and literally no one else does. Not in a bad way, of course, but he’s still over it), “what else did you do to this kid?”

_ Besides, the whole convincing San thing has been going on for a bit too long. They’ve been waiting for Yeosang to return to tell him  _ something,  _ too and if they don’t hurry up it might just be a little too late. _

“I didn’t,” Yeosang retaliates, eyebrows furrowed and Wooyoung still in his tight grip, “hopefully.”

The last part was whispered, but it made Hongjoong huffs in frustration, Seonghwa’s arms quickly flying to hold him down before he might or might not jump on Yeosang. 

“Okay, okay,  _ maybe  _ I’m just scared that little San over here is more mentally scarred and broken than the rest of us, okay? And I don’t know - maybe he has a trigger word that would activate some mannerisms even he doesn’t know yet, or something but maybe in my lack of knowledge I made him upset. I don’t know, Joong, sue me for being scared of the unknown.  _ You’re  _ the one who is a nerd about these kinds of things, you tell me,” Yeosang huffs back, feeling a little petty. Well he  _ is  _ petty most of the time, but you get what I’m trying to say.

“I don’t know, Sang. It just sounds like you’re emotionally incapable of making new friends if they aren’t required to be,” Hongjoong shrugs. Which was a little rude, to say the least, but Yeosang knows there’s a fifty percent chance of the older being right.

Yeosang has never had to reach out to another  _ friend,  _ especially since he’s been so overprotective over Wooyoung and other people their age aren’t exactly fond of the younger and his ‘childish’ nature, so he’s never been required to make some friendly nonsensical chit chats to  _ anyone.  _ Yunho has always been there, for as long as he’s known, and Hongjoong basically forced his existence onto him when he preached about uniting the world and bringing at least  _ some  _ world peace to their supposed alliance, Seonghwa being right behind him at the time and even now, so once again - no reaching out was ever needed.

But still, isn’t it a little weird?

Hongjoong and Seonghwa have known each other for a lifetime, he supposes, like he himself, Wooyoung and Yunho had. But those two and the three of them - aside from the fact that they’ve been going on this journey for months - haven’t known each other for  _ that  _ long. And in these short periods of times, there’s a bit too many to count moments where Yeosang has observed and absorbed the fact that most times, they bicker as if they’ve known each other for their whole lives.

Up until now, Yeosang falls into the pessimistic spectrum about how ‘real’ the prophecy could be, and if the thing that brought them all together were mere coincidence and nothing sort of a real fate. But nothing explains  _ that,  _ whatever it is that caused them to interact as if they’ve known each other for their whole lives and maybe even before then, how his eyes caught San’s sneaking figure as he walks out his room on the attic at the exact same time Yeosang bid his farewell to Wooyoung, needing a quick bath and maybe a sauna (if he was lucky), but ending up stalking San’s route since he felt the strongest pull he’s ever felt about the young man.

He watched, too, as San pierced an arrow through someone’s heart (or maybe head, he didn’t see clearly), and managed to get away with a head start before the younger could figure out the fact that Yeosang has been sneaking up on him just to watch. And maybe it’s a little illegal to pretend as if he knows all of this just by  _ looking  _ at San’s calluses and smelling the smoke on his shirt, but he’s incapable of telling the truth. Just not yet, apparently.

Seonghwa looks over at Hongjoong, his eyes complaining in ways his voice isn't ever allowed to. Hongjoong returns the look, and maybe it’s just his clouded imagination, but he heard Seonghwa’s voice muttering a disappointed little;  _ “Hongjoong-”  _ before it was gone again, and it freaked him out a little bit since he doesn’t see Seonghwa’s lips moving in this dim lighted room, but alas, his fear disappeared as soon as it surfaced since the bed dipped behind him, signifying the fact that San made a move.

The boy is now standing, hands interlocked and eyes casted downwards. “Do I-” he starts, eyes looking across the room for Yeosang’s, who looks like he was deep in thoughts before San cleared his throat and started talking, “do I really. . . you know. Am I really needed? Like, since the prophecy never really. . . said anything about the amount of people needed. Or did it? I’m not actually sure since I’ve never- read the prophecy-”

“There isn’t a significant number, yes,” Yeosang pipes in, and Hongjoong’s head whips back to look at him. “But as far as I’m concerned - of course this is a personal opinion,” Yeosang returns the glare Hongjoong gave him, “I think we  _ really  _ do need you.”

Hongjoong’s tense shoulders relaxed if only for a little before he heard the reply coming from San’s lips.

“Ah,” the other man replies, scratching the back of his neck. “Alright- I’ll, uh. Think about it,” San finishes before making a dash out the door, not even caring to close it before the other men he was standing in front of. The door swung back and forth for a little before San’s head pops back in, fear painting his expression. “I  _ am  _ allowed to think about it, am I?”

Yeosang makes no claim that he can answer that question since he’s not the one rounding people up to go make a team and find the Treasure, so he shifts his gaze upon Hongjoong, who is still holding a very emotional eye-contact with his neck before he returned the motion. “Hongjoong?” he smiles, a little challenging.

“Y-yes, of course,” Hongjoong looks back at San’s  _ almost  _ trembling features, making sure to flash the younger his most attractive smile possible before nodding. “Go ahead and think. Take your time.”

Yunho made a confused noise before continuing with whatever he was doing since the board meeting slash kidnapping started, and his right hand reached over to retrieve his unfinished sandwich before the door slams shut for real this time and he almost flinched. Wooyoung laughs at him, all gleeful and unbothered, and he returns the smile. 

“I thought you said we needed to hurry up to get to the others?” Seonghwa surmised, the question only a little louder than a hum. “Huh?” Hongjoong gazes around, confused. He sure as hell  _ thought  _ that, but didn’t have any recollection of saying it aloud. When could he? 

“We can stay for. . . a while longer,” he concludes, feeling the need to sleep crawl over his back while smiling up at Seonghwa without asking the other how in the world is he able to think the same exact thing Hongjoong was thinking. Unless they are granted the ability to read people’s minds, now? That would be interesting to further explore, later.

“Oh, right. Prince Yeosang!” Yunho chirps, his cheeks still filled with his dinner.

“Yunho,” Yeosang scolds, his eyes focused on Wooyoung’s nails. “Swallow your food before you talk. I’ve taught you better.”

Yunho pouts at this, resulting in him quickly munching on the rest of his sandwich before he opens his lips again, only for Yeosang to cut him off - yet again. “And drop the ‘prince’ before you refer to me, please. It’ll only turn more people’s heads when you talk,” he smiles at Yunho, “and you aren’t exactly the most  _ quiet. _ ”

Yunho would blush, if he could, but he couldn’t - so he just lowers his head with a pursed smile. “Proceed,” Yeosang adds, and he remembers the sole reason he was so excited in talking to the other.

“I met Song Mingi! After all these times!  _ And  _ his religious boyfriend, but he’s fun too. I guess. A little pale and sick for a boy his age but still fun to joke around with,” Yunho continues, thoughtful, and Yeosang leans forward, now intrigued.

“You didn’t joke around with Jongho, Yunho. You said jokes and the corner of his mouth twitched. It’s not the same,” Hongjoong supplies from the side, already almost passed out on the bed. “It  _ is  _ the same. You’re just mad because Jongho looks scared everytime you speak,” Yunho chuckles, shoving Hongjoong’s feet out of the way, and the older pulled a face.

“Wait-  _ hold on _ , everyone, I’m lost,” Yeosang frowns, and Wooyoung immediately held on to the older, a smile adorning his face for doing what he was told. “The Song Mingi? Like, your best friend who ran away from home because he used to live in a pimp’s house and he’s seen way too much as a 12-year-old? Mingi who you made a promise to fulfill the prophecy together,  _ that  _ Mingi?”

Wooyoung frowns, obviously knowing who Mingi is but not understanding where the conversation is going.

“Mingi used to live with a pimp?” Seonghwa asks, beginning to think that his and Hongjoong’s fates aren’t the worse ones they could probably get - despite living in the country with a madman as a ruler. Yeosang nods, extinguishing Seonghwa’s curiosity while encouraging Yunho to continue. 

“Wait! Tell me more, please. How did you meet Mingi? Here? And why was I not invited, what is this betrayal-”

“Yeosang,” Wooyoung cuts him off, putting his hand on the older’s cheek for exaggeration. “You were ‘bathing’,” he continues, air quotations on bathing. Yeosang chuckles for a quick second before he looks back at Wooyoung, impressed. “How did you know I didn’t actually go to a sauna-” “It is the art of  _ observation,  _ Sang,” Wooyoung nonchalantly lifts his shoulder. “You’re the one I learned it from.”

“Okay, for fuck’s sake - can I finally continue my story?” Yunho shifts back and forward, impatient. Yeosang noticed Seonghwa’s chuckle behind him, unsure if it was directed to Hongjoong, who's already passed out on the bed like a starfish, or at Wooyoung and Yeosang’s short bickering cut off by the one and only Yunho.

He feels like he’d rather not find out yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr, for more updates regarding my updates lmao: arrowthroughtheheartstuff (come say hi!!)  
> instagram: arrowthroughtheheart or teayoinkstea  
> twitter: basekickswingin


	6. ILLUSION

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> San accepts the invitation, and at the end of the day, there is a fight scene. Hongjoong is hurt, too - both mentally and physically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> venandi: hunter  
> prayer sanctuary: the religious place people pray in  
> Crescent flower: briefly mentioned in Seonghwa's garden  
> .  
> .  
> i am back! with a long one, this time.

Hongjoong hops down the last set of stairs with a little smile decorating the corner of his lips, every single cell in his body jittering in excitement. He doesn’t know what they’re about, though, and apparently a little session where he can ask his brain cells what made them so excited aren’t exactly available (besides the fact that people might think he’s going crazy, and that’s the last thing they need right now), so he’s just going to go about his day. The sun is merciful today, the view outside of the inn is clear and bright enough though the heat of the gigantic star doesn’t sting too much for the naked eye.

There are people huddling in each corner of the market, which was already operating since the early morning, one of the reasons Hongjoong was shaken awake since he slept right near the half-opened window. There are kids chasing little cats here and there, shrieking in gleeful laughter and fondness before their parents nudged them if only a little bit in hopes of calming the kids down. There are fish merchants, where the cats were lounging around lazily while other little kids spy on them with interest, a full-planned blueprint of how they’re going to bother the fluffy creatures already printed in their minds.

The thing that piqued Hongjoong’s interest, though -  _ in this  _ fine  _ morning  _ \- was none other than Choi San.

He wasn’t. . . spying on the man, per se. It was all mere coincidence, he assured himself. And hey, the young man is a potential teammate (and by potential here, Hongjoong meant ‘I’m going to assure him to be a teammate because without him we can never proceed’) - so when Hongjoong opened the door just a few minutes ago to hear the faintest voice of the man he just met last night, claiming that he’s going to go out to do his chores for the day, something flashed through Hongjoong’s mind. He’s going to show San how much of a good person he is, and in return, how good his friends are!

_ Though  _ some  _ parts of his logical mind is trying to tell him that maybe they should just kidnap San and let him out of the bag only after they reach the Treasure, but wouldn’t that be too long? _

“Hey!” Hongjoong starts out, only a few steps behind San - who is shouldering a hand-sewn basket, walking as slow as he can to not bump into the kids running here and there. He’s wearing buttoned sleeves, covering the entirety of his arms, apparently. But he acknowledged the call, looking back from his shoulder to meet Hongjoong’s eyes.

Now, Hongjoong was expecting some shock or a fight, obviously. San  _ did  _ look a bit overwhelmed last night and it might be the best to leave him to his own devices for a while until he calmed down, but Hongjoong’s expectation was off by a mile.

“Ah,” San stops, clearing off the path so he doesn’t block anyone between himself and Hongjoong. He stood still on the curb, a polite smile painted on his face. “Sir Hongjoong?”

Said man is flustered from the formality, waving a hand to dismiss it. “Just Hongjoong is fine - no one’s ever addressed me as. . . whatever it is you just called me,” Hongjoong chuckles, and San’s mouth formed an understanding ‘o’. The younger hums, eyes crinkling in mirth before continuing his walk, “Everyone addressed you as Prince Hongjoong, though?”

_ This  _ shocked Hongjoong.

It’s not like he was expecting to come into the premises of this new, untouched country and be known as a prince while walking around. He’s not here to be known, and if he  _ is  _ known around the neighborhood, his whole mission might be jeopardized.

“O- okay. Who told you that?” the older man catches up to San, trying to arrange his thoughts and priorities while digging up more information from a local. San isn’t  _ really  _ a local, he’s just stranded here after the split - but he’s been here long enough to be considered a local judging from how he acts and speaks and how he knows every rumour and gossip floating around, so? 

“Who told me what?” San replies, eyes now focused on Hongjoong’s worried face. San do not recall saying anything wrong. “That people address me as Prince Hongjoong? Or was that- was it a joke?” 

San felt his brain recoiling within his throbbing skull at how stupid he must be right now. He knew the fact that Hongjoong was a prince, knew it right in the moment he saw the older’s face when Yeosang dragged him into a room his friends were located in (which was the inn’s restaurant) since Hongjoong is - well, there’s a bit more people out there who wanted Hongjoong dead more than they want Yeosang’s head to be chopped off, and there’s also a slightly bigger bounty for Hongjoong. San just never had it in him to hunt either of the two down, with many reasonings like ‘Ah, they live too far away,’ or ‘But wouldn’t they have an entire cavalry ready to kill  _ me  _ if I was ever to step closer?’ 

Neither of those points ever stopped him from hunting down someone before, but things started to make sense now. At least, if he chooses to start believing the prophecy right now, out of all the days he could start believing in it.

What reason is he supposed to pull out of his ass, now? Especially while Hongjoong is looking at him like  _ that,  _ waiting for explanations. San has truly royally shat on himself and he’s not proud of it. 

_ Wait. _

San furrows his eyebrows for dramatic flair, (he hopes that it didn’t come out  _ too  _ dramatic) before he stops in front of Hongjoong, putting both of his hands on the other’s shoulder. “Are you  _ actually  _ a prince, Hongjoong?”

_ Good, good,  _ San pats himself on the back, mentally congratulating himself.  _ Turn this situation back around onto him, since you’re not that good at answering questions without stammering and telling the truth no one wants to find out. _

But maybe Hongjoong is somewhat a little too intelligent to play this game - obviously, since San  _ knows  _ what Hongjoong is and he’s already intimidated by his presence since even before Yeosang forced him to meet the older while he was in pain and this situation right now isn’t the most ideal San has ever been in. He’s never even been forced to be in a situation where he’s forced to lie before, and this right now is too close. Too close to him being discovered, since maybe Hongjoong knows that people are after his head. 

_ Oh my fucking God,  _ San starts panicking, the older still have yet to mutter a single word.  _ What if he  _ knows  _ people are onto him? _

Having a target who is self-aware of their own asshole traits and how much every single person who’s met them wants to kill them is a little bit tricky, according to San. They’re going to be more cautious, they’re going to roll the curtains down and hide behind the shades, maybe install bulletproof glasses while they’re at it. Some, truth be told they’re a little bit extra but some  _ did  _ hire an entire cavalry just to protect their backs and front, only to find out that San sneaked into their cupboard and hid there for an entire day just to wait for his target to return home and killed him in the most effective way at the moment.

No one’s ever caught San, however self-aware and paranoid his targets (though they are all dead) might have been.

And Hongjoong isn’t even a target. Neither he or Yeosang were his priorities, since San made a long list of paper with numbers ranging from one to twenty-seven (he knows it’s uneven, leave him be) to list out every man he’s after. The list goes on from the most expensive to least, and Hongjoong’s head could pay him another three years worth of not killing - but he never wrote Hongjoong’s name down. 

The older is now looking at him up and down, expression guarded but not untrusting as his smaller yet built hands are now clenching San’s arms in return. Hongjoong’s eyes traveled up and down, and San regretted ever stopping in front of the older even if only for a little while. “Honestly, what are you doing?” San asks, almost exasperated. If he’s this close to being discovered might as well- no. He can’t confess, what if Hongjoong doesn’t even know what he does? What if he doesn’t have a single clue?

Hongjoong chuckles, and San gnaws on the insides of his cheeks.  _ Shit, does he read minds now- _

“You’re a paid murderer,” Hongjoong lets his verdict marinate in silence before continuing, “aren’t you?”

Now, there’s only one or two ways where this might go.

San confesses, nodding his head featured by some weak words he’s going to be able to pull from the deepest parts of his mind to stir some pity from within the older’s heart - if he’s going to pity him, that is. And then after that, Hongjoong might or might not still want San in his team, and either way he’s going to still live a life alongside other people who will depend on him, no matter if he stays by the inn or follows Hongjoong’s team. The  _ other  _ way is if he retaliates, backing off as if Hongjoong offered him something so ridiculous, something he’s never even thought about and ‘how absurd- do people even live like that?’, a situation that will bring him more harm than good. He’s not going to be able to control his voice and if  _ that  _ doesn’t attract some bystander’s interest, then the next thing will. The next thing is the fact that almost the entire neighborhood knew of San’s (questionable) past, and he’s been laying low for a few years now, save for the moment he got shot when he was a teenager. If they caught him raising a voice at a customer - since Hongjoong has been roaming here and there throughout the city before their entire meetup happened, making himself well-acquainted with the people around them - his reputation is going further down the drain.

So he does not one of the two ways, but another one, since he refuses to be put in a box by his ‘logical’ senses and worrying about every little detail down to the bone isn’t a fun activity for him to play around with. So fuck that whole scenario that just played, and he focused back on Hongjoong’s soft glare upon him. The smaller one looks so determined it’s almost endearing, and San revels in how non-accusatory his eyes are, upon his own. That’s definitely new.

“Well, fuck,” he released his hold on Hongjoong, and the older chuckled as soon as those words left his mouth. “How’d you figure  _ that  _ out? I’ve been hiding it for years now.”

Hongjoong shrugs, diminishing all possibilities San had in mind of the fact that he might be a mind reader (maybe, maybe not). “No one knows my title except for the assassins people offer money to exchange for my head on a silver platter,” he continues, nudging San’s side. There’s glee written all over his face, as if he’s glad to figure out - or glad because San chose to not lie. Either way, the younger has his nose scrunched up in faux annoyance. “Not silver platter, maybe. . . just a burlap. Your head would be shoved in there and like the blood would be dripping from the bottom as if it’s a wild boar inside-  _ ohmygod _ ,” San slaps a hand over his mouth, eyes darting away from Hongjoong’s face.

Hongjoong is still cackling, though, acknowledging that his enemies probably won’t fancy his head on  _ their  _ silver platter since washing that would be a bitch and it’ll smell like his blood for longer than necessary, so a burlap is probably just enough. “No, no,” he wheezes, “it’s okay. I’m not offended in the slightest.”

San pulls a face, concerned and slightly confused. “You aren’t?” he asks, and Hongjoong replies with a nonchalant ‘No?’

“Huh,” the younger hums, the adrenaline of the previous conversation drained out of his system and all that’s left is now his sleep-deprived inconsolable self, looking right into Hongjoong’s eyes. Hongjoong is looking back at him, too, as if waiting for him to say or do something, and something clicks in San’s head.

He feels weirdly accepted, as if whatever it is he’s been trying to hide is just another silly fact everyone went through in their lives, like he’s just farted in a swimming pool. It’s always been sick and twisted for himself, usually, since he’s spent more days awake than asleep just feeling sorry for himself and for the loneliness that is rotting away within his bones and the burden he has to go through every day, unable to tell anyone but his own reflection in the mirror that it’s going to be fine someday. That someday it’s about to feel better for him, and his wounds are going to start healing. 

And if this didn’t assure San on going with Hongjoong, his dream last night sure did.

It’s been quite a while since he’s had dreams. Visions, if you will, since most of his memories came rushing back at him like waves. The situation was all too familiar, and he, for a second, thought that he’s just sleep-walking this whole time which ended in him facing himself in the mirror. Something’s wrong with his reflection though. San knows that he’s sleep-deprived and stressed with everything that’s been going on around him these days but he barely remembered aging  _ that  _ fast. He passed by his mirror previously, after storming off from the men-with-the-compasses’s room, and he doesn’t look that. . . matured. It’s different. He’s different, and then it occurred to him that it might just be a dream.

A dream, indeed, since San looked around, noticing the fact that he wasn’t in the comfort of his own room in the attic. He’s in some kind of cave, purple-ish rocks in all shapes and sizes comfortably resting against each other, acting as a wall of some sort, and some lathered in glitter? Or maybe stardust, if those things actually exist. San has never seen something that bright, though, and combined with the purple rocks underneath - it almost looks magical. He froze soon after he noticed the fact that the  _ other  _ San doesn’t move, his reflection stays looking at him as if it’s disappointed and ready to scold him like an overprotective mother. He’s just realized the fact that he’s never dressed like this ‘reflection’, too, hats and a mask which was pulled down and chains adorning his black coat. Gloves, boots. It’s all so ineffective and. . . and oddly familiar. 

“San,” the reflection spoke, and he remembered vividly when he staggered backwards, avoiding the reflection. The other man’s eyebrow curved upwards, questioning. He begins again, trying to get  _ him  _ to talk. “San-”   
This time, San tries to slam a hand on the mirror, right beside the reflection’s head. He ends up falling forward, though, his hand landing halfway on the reflection’s shoulder instead. The other man (apparently, he’s not a reflection, he’s a real being), looks at him, unfazed. “Why did you sever the connection, I wonder?” he says again, now looking at San’s face even closer. 

San isn’t getting the message. He flinches, recoiling to get back on his feet, a few metres away from this man who looks exactly like him.  _ Who-  _

“Severing  _ what  _ connection, San?” came out of his lips, uncontrolled that it shocked himself in the process. He wondered for a while about why he was also calling the other man as ‘San’, but it may have to do with his previous dreams. It’s a shame that he’s unable to recall his dream-memories when he’s actually  _ dreaming,  _ but it’s okay. He’ll make do.

“You severed my connection with you by trying to scrape off the mark of the compass,” the other San sighs, a little frustrated. “I need to be able to get inside your head. I can only do that while you sleep, so you’ll have to listen to me. Don’t hurt yourself like that,” he states, dead serious, “I mean it. You’re more important to us than you like to believe.”

The glimmer around them stops, and all of a sudden, the cave darkened. San grimaced, his eyesight still focused on the man in front of him. He’s not moving, even when the cave looks like they’re about to crumble. There’s a loud force that shook his feet, the walls vibrating loudly. San wondered if it was an earthquake in real life and that he needed to wake up as soon as possible before the San in front of him turned around, a flash of anxiety appeared on his face if only for a second. 

_ “We _ don’t have much time left, Choi San,” the man said once again, though his voice is now somehow shaking, his words held a sense of finality. “Don’t run away,” he continued, backing off into the darkness that’ll swallow his presence away from San’s dream.

_ “Don’t run away.” _

San grounds himself back in the present, looking down at Hongjoong who is playing with a little stray cat out of boredom. The fact that he’s still here overwhelmed San with the need to cry a little bit, and he clears his throat. Hongjoong looks up at him, expectant while the rest of him is still engulfed with warming up the little kitten. “I have decided,” San states, his voice sounding like they’re not his and his heart palpitations goes crazy. “About?” Hongjoong inquires, tilting his head. 

“T-to, uh,” San clears his throat once again, definitely nervous. “To go with you.”   
Hongjoong’s expression was priceless, according to San - since the older’s jaw dropped and his eyes rounded like a proud mother when their child hits their bully for the first time. And he’s holding a kitten in his arms- the look is officially complete. “Oh, to go with us?” was the first thing Hongjoong said, but quickly retracted. “Of course that’s what you meant- that’s what he  _ said,  _ dumbass,” he slaps his own face, regretful before looking back at San, his eyes shimmering with mirth.

“That’s really good, San. I’m so glad you made the choice,” Hongjoong nods, patting San’s back the best he can while not letting go of the yawning kitten. “I feel like I sound mildly like a cult recruiter right now, but hey,” the older shrugs, which made San chuckle. His eyes are travelling here and there to find somewhere to settle it for the time being, since he’s unable to look at Hongjoong just yet. Why is this more awkward than he thought it would be?

The ringing in his ear silenced his heart’s palpitations, though, and San pipes in with a sudden, “Oh!”

Hongjoong zoomed in on the younger’s face, afraid that he’s done something to make San change his mind in the mere 12 seconds they’ve been quiet. “O-oh?” he repeats, trying to not scare the young man. 

“I just remembered something,” San chuckles, scratching at the back of his neck. “I’ll have to go somewhere for a second, alright? Uh, I’ll be back soon if. . . if leaving today is anywhere in your plan-” he trails off, embarrassed. Hongjoong released a breath he’s been holding, laughing awkwardly along with San. “Ah! Sure, sure, we’ll wait until you’re ready to go,” he nods, thankful that the kitten in his hands helped him avoid the awkward ‘I-don’t-know-where-to-put-my-hands’ phase. San nods eagerly, picking up the pace of his steps, leaving Hongjoong behind, who was already turning around to get back to the inn. 

“Don’t leave without me!”

Hongjoong lifted a hand, a thumbs up sitting comfortably at the top of his manicured fingers and San disappeared in a corner.

*

“Shit, shit, shit,” San limped away from almost running into a trash bin, trying to be as quiet as he can in his own backyard. The back of the inn is almost neglected, save for the few times some men who would pick up their trash would roam around and clean it up. It’s usually where he would dump his things off until he can sneak out and hide them all in his attic (most effective when Lia’s parents are dead asleep at about two in the morning) but he doesn’t have the time to do that right now. His last duty was apparently a trap - of some sort, since he didn’t feel trapped at all and managed to get out of the situation before it got out of hand, but it did drain him of all his energy  _ and  _ time.

He told Hongjoong, who in return should’ve told his entire team, that he’s going to come back soon and they might have a chance of leaving before this day ended - but it’s almost 7PM right now and he’s just finished running away from some highly agitated group of buff men who were meant to tie him up in a chair an auction him to some other rich men he’s supposed to murder. San  _ supposed  _ there’s going to be a bounty for his head too, but how are they supposed to find him when they weren’t even interested in revealing his face? All they cared about was to reveal that mark of the compass on his wrist - and that’s when San got out of their grasps. 

It was foolish of him to still go on one last duty even when the entire universe and its minions (read Hongjoong) have modified it in one way or another to save him from unnecessary drama and excessive unneeded bruises, but he did and now he has to get the whole team to leave within five seconds. They’ll manage. San doesn’t really have anything to  _ bring,  _ but maybe they’ll need him to bring a stash of his self-protection (read weapons) things he’s stacked in his room after a few failed attempts of murder by random drunk soldiers throughout the years. Luckily enough for him, the men who were chasing him down lost their eyesight on him at the city central and that bought them approximately another fifteen minutes tops until they’d tear down every single building in that row to find the man with the compass - and if they’re lucky, they’ll meet more than just Choi San.

San can’t let that happen. 

He puts on another shirt, one that didn’t expose his arm as much to let himself stay hidden if only for another couple minutes before a fight becomes a necessity. Hopefully, travelling with a large group helps him blend in with the crowd. He  _ is  _ just another 20-year-old beneath all the masks and hooded-coats.

San shouldered his bag, already filled with emergency necessities he’s prepared beforehand just in case things like this happen and heads downstairs, standing still in the hallway heading to Yunho’s room(?) he was in yesterday to listen to any suspicious noises. Suspiciously, there was no noise. It’s too little of a noise, it's almost suspicious. Yeosang and Hongjoong’s friends were undoubtedly loud last night he was there, unless-

He pushes the door open to reveal the room empty, vacant of any living person. The shades are rolled over to a close and the closet’s door is still hanging open, suspiciously hasty for a few people who are pretty sure of themselves. Were they. . . did they run off somewhere? Without him?

“San!”

A familiar voice comes from behind him, and at the top of the stairs, at the end of this hallway, stood Yeosang. He looks mildly concerned, eyes flickering here and there between San and whatever is happening downstairs (something is definitely happening, apparent from the reflections of light on glass on Yeosang’s face), and it took him just another second to approach the younger. “Are you expecting someone?” Yeosang asks, his voice just an octave below a whisper, and it almost took San everything he could to squint and read his lips’ movement. 

“No,” he replies, “though I was expecting to be expected. Hongjoong told me they’d wait for me before leaving. I expected them to be here, though. Did they leave yet?”

Yeosang shakes his head earnestly.

“Of course not, San. They won’t ever leave us. There was just an emergency that caused Hongjoong, Seonghwa and Yunho to leave earlier. We volunteered to wait for you, though, and we’re just going to meet them there,” Yeosang concludes, and San is inching closer and closer to a window, his ears perked up when the sound of a glass breaking entered his ear canal. “Where?” he asks Yeosang, and the older shrugs. “We’ll tell you later. Now, were you expecting someone before you leave? Because Wooyoung is already throwing in some punches and we would never hurt your guests.”

“Wooyoung?” San says, his voice breaking in the middle as a wave of guilt engulfs him. Yeosang nods, trying to calm the younger down with a, “It’s okay, Wooyoung is surprisingly very skilled in making people double over in pain. I don’t even know where he got it from,” but San is already pulling Yeosang by his wrist and they sprinted downstairs, San’s eyes coming in contact with Wooyoung, who is sitting idly on a table with both of his calves wrapped around a man’s neck, bent in a way close to its breaking point. Wooyoung looks up to meet San’s, and he gives him a tiny wave before he starts tapping the man’s head, who is turning red underneath his legs’ grasp. 

“Okay,” Yeosang hums from behind San, stepping away carefully to not step on any other littering bodies Wooyoung freshly beat up to not destroy the youngest among the three’s masterpieces. “I’ll take that as a ‘no’, then.”

“What’s a no?” San chimes in, pulling a face when he sees one body with a broken nose, still groaning in pain since he’s unable to stand. “Your guests. They aren’t one,” Yeosang gives his final verdict, genuinely proud of himself for guessing it right the first time. 

“Ha-” San lets out a laugh, still ungrounded by the fact that Wooyoung did this all by himself.  _ The  _ Wooyoung? “I told you ‘no’ upstairs, too. You’re not that great, Yeosang - don’t hog all the credits to yourself,” he continues, playfully, and heard a scoff in return. It could be Yeosang getting mildly offended, or Wooyoung laughing at his friend while pointing fingers, which Yeosang would pretend to bite and the younger would shriek over. 

San purses his lips.

“Maybe we should go. My aunt would  _ not  _ like the damage you put her restaurant through,” he pulls both Yeosang and Wooyoung, hoping to God that they could get away far enough before Lia’s parents are awoken by the few men still groaning on their restaurant’s floor - close enough to the entrance of their inn. 

“Are you familiar with Choi Jongho?” Wooyoung questions, counting something with his fingers while his other hand is gripping the food they got from the market just before they left for the woods on their way to Jongho’s ‘prayer sanctuary’ - since they can’t exactly call it a church for copyright reasons. San nods, stealing a single piece of chicken from Yeosang’s box, which earned him a disappointed glare. “Yeah. I met him a couple of years ago when my aunt wanted to pray for my fast healing. I was shot in the ribs back then- or was it just my stomach?” he ended it with a shrug, eyes focused on the road. Wooyoung muttered a little ‘woah’ before chiming in with another question. “What about Song Mingi?”

“I’m familiar with everyone, Wooyoung. That’s why no one’s ever accused  _ me  _ of being the unknown assassin everyone knows about - even though they accused fifty-five different young men other than me,” San chuckles at his own statement. This time, Yeosang hummed, confused. “But I thought you said they didn’t like you, either?”

“They didn’t,” came San’s reply. “That’s why they never thought of me as someone worthy enough to be the assassin. They think of him as a good guy, most of the time, since he’s only ever killed the people who have treated the general public in the wrong way. He’s never killed someone who is publicly seen as the ‘nice guy’ - so they thought, ‘Ah. Someone like that can  _ never  _ be Choi San.’”

“That’s a bit foolish even for them, don’t you think?” Yeosang scrunches his nose up, and San nods, his lips adorned in a pursed smile he’s always used when he’s thinking. “Why don’t you kill them, too?”

San tilts his head before shaking them, chuckling a little bit. “Because no one’s ever paid me to do so?”

Yeosang huffs out air from his nostrils, and San deems himself the world’s greatest comedian. Maybe that ego was boosted from Wooyoung’s wheezing laugh from beside him, but either way - that feels nice. Maybe he might need to talk about his problems more often, see where that gets him. “What about you, mister royalty?” San bounces the question back at Yeosang, who is still eating calmly despite all the uneven roads they’re walking through. “Tell me at least three main reasons why I shouldn’t chop your head off,” he says, continuing with a smile and rewarded with Wooyoung shoving his elbow into his sides so abruptly it almost hurts.

San huffs. “Well, okay, that’s most definitely one of the top three-”

“You can’t  _ kill  _ Yeosang,” Wooyoung chimes in, voice as serious as he’s ever been. “That’s just not a possibility. That’s why if you’re able to get his head, you’ll be paid a bunch. And even then, he won’t be dead.”

San looks over from Wooyoung to Yeosang, eyes squinted. 

“What the fuck does that mean, huh?” he asks, “I’m beginning to feel disturbed. And maybe concerned- you can’t fucking  _ die,  _ Sang? In what world- so you’re trying to say,” San looks back to Wooyoung, “that if I cut his fucking head off, he’s going to continue living like a headless cockroach but like fifty times more fancy and beautiful?”

Wooyoung wonders for a moment, San’s accent making it hard for him to understand. Once he got the gist of it, he nodded. “Technically, you got it right.”

Yeosang hums in agreement, and San looks at him in disbelief.

“Wait- did you just call me fancy  _ and  _ beautiful?” Yeosang whips his head to San’s direction, a small smirk lifting the corners of his lips up. He finds a way to intertwine their arms, too, and San splutters in disbelief. “Why does that matter- I just found out that you can’t fucking die, Yeosang!”

“He really did call you that,” Wooyoung adds, closing in the gap of himself with San’s other unoccupied side, and San looks at the younger in (yet another) disbelief, his jaw dropping. Wooyoung pursed his lips to his direction before mocking him with kissy noises, absolutely disregarding whatever San was focused on.

Yeosang scoffs, running a hand through his hair. “And here I thought  _ I  _ was the world’s greatest flirt of all time,” and he makes some hand motions above his head, as if taking off the invisible crown and now putting them on San’s head with a soft thud. “I crown you the world’s second greatest flirt of all time, then, just because I’m feeling incredibly nice today.”

San decided to go along since there’s no way his questions were about to get any answer. “Oh, but why the second? I thought the line I delivered stole your heart for good.”

“Hush. Be quiet and just take what I give you, young man. If you behave, you might get some more- promotions,” Yeosang pats the younger’s cheeks, ignoring the way Wooyoung is yet again, wheezing in disgust. He’s still also holding onto San, though, and the young man in the middle is luckily content enough with their position to not complain about his backpack weighing him down. It’s alright, they’ll be there soon enough.

“Now,” Yeosang clears his throat, “my hand is  _ really  _ heavy. Would you mind carrying them for me, since you’ve already proven yourself to be excellent at carrying heavy things?” the oldest among the three motions to the backpack on San’s back with his chin while he stretches his left arm, dangling it in front of San’s face.

San looks at him, eyes rounded in confusion.  _ And maybe embarrassment but do we talk about that? No. _

It took Wooyoung only a second and a soft little ‘oh!’ before he whispers in San’s ear (whisper loudly, though, Wooyoung likes not being quiet), “He wants you to hold his hands. I know, right? Yeosang is too complicated sometimes.”   
San looks at Wooyoung now, his cheekbones raising to swallow a laughter threatening to fall out. “Just  _ do  _ it,” Wooyoung pushes his shoulder, laughing airily. Wooyoung’s laugh is soft, and Yeosang’s grip around his palm is just the right amount of firmness, and in this short-lived moment, San tries to forget the amount of responsibilities they’re about to receive in the next few hours. He also forgets the fact that the forest is  _ dark,  _ by now - and he’s lucky his companions aren’t afraid of the dark.

He’s lucky over a lot of things, he concludes, and when the moonlight shines down on the trio, San manages to steal a glance at his mark of the compass, and he allows himself to breathe. 

Don’t run away, San. Don’t.

But as the world learned to give them good things, they forgot how much the world prefers their pain over their joy.

Yunho was the first one to barge in, his eyes immediately scanning the prayer sanctuary he was given a view of after the door swung open. It is vacant of people, since no one is about to go all the way up an isolated hill just to chant prayers in the middle of a vicious storm that is raging outside the enormous walls of the sanctuary. It isn’t normally crowded with people either, Yunho recalled what Mingi had said a few hours ago, when they left him and his religious but questionable boyfriend, Choi Jongho - so Yunho is still on edge about this place and. . . whatever it is that created or run this place in general, but when a young lady asked the receptionist at the inn about a ‘Jung Yunho’ and had a whole carriage waiting up for the five of them (they must’ve not known about San yet, Yunho thought), he deems it an emergency.

The young lady is called Ryujin, and she’s  _ not  _ exactly the one who is going to be driving their carriage, but she was the one who Mingi sent directly to find a Yunho and get them all to Jongho’s prayer sanctuary. When asked why, Ryujin can only look beside her, to the coachman that had to dismount the carriage to assure Yunho alongside the young lady. He said that his name was Jung Jaehyun, if Yunho remembered correctly, and he coaxed the answer out of Ryujin and she finally told them that their inn is no longer safe.

How does Mingi know this, you might ask?

Well, that’s what Yunho is about to ask his childhood best friend, too.

Yunho notices Hongjoong squirm behind him, though, and when he concludes that no one is inside the prayer sanctuary - no Jongho, no Mingi, at least not yet seen - he looks behind him to catch Seonghwa and Hongjoong  _ staring _ at his back. “With all due respect, Yunho,” Hongjoong begins, face contorted into uncomfortableness, “I see almost little to no point having us hidden here. At least if the inn wasn’t safe we could’ve hid somewhere, barge into other rooms while we plan something. But here I can barely breathe without feeling like I’m being  _ watched.” _

The tallest among the three stays quiet since he doesn’t disagree. There’s always been a humidly weird atmosphere around the place, but now that Hongjoong pointed it out with little to no shame - he feels it tenfold.

A squeak signifies the door opening, and Yunho can see how much Hongjoong is trying not to flinch, just to not hurt his own pride. Ryujin shows up from behind the door, her hood up and her face contorted into confusion, and Hongjoong curses. “Should’ve just stayed and waited for San, I swear my heart isn’t strong enough for this-”

“What are you all doing here?” Ryujin whispers, before hurrying in to usher them all out, the way she looks around only doubling the fear that is ringing in the men’s ears. “You can’t be here unless Jongho is in. Other times are. . .” she closes the door behind her, huffing a relieved breath, “reserved for something else. Come on. Jongho lives not far from here, I’ll show you the way.”

Yunho can feel Hongjoong’s entire being  _ shake  _ under his and Seonghwa’s firm hold (the two were meant to shield their prince Hongjoong from the rain, but apparently the previous happening was a bit too traumatic for him) and a loud and sudden shriek coming from nearby doesn’t help his case. Seonghwa looks up at Yunho, counting the mere seconds before Hongjoong is going to freak out and ask for them to return to the city to find Yeosang and Wooyoung, and then he’s going to freak out about the fact that San is returning late. 

Ryujin stops after a two-minute walk, knocking on the door of a house made of dark-wooden with its window shades down. Someone took a peek from the window and Yunho recognized Mingi’s eyes immediately, the door soon opening with Jongho following suit, both of their smiles a bit too comfortable for whatever atmosphere the others are going through.

Mingi gasps, quickly running back inside when he sees them all soaking wet, and he whispers something to Jongho that made the younger pull all of them inside, though Ryujin was against it for a whole minute. She settles in with a defeated sigh, accepting the towel Mingi got for everyone to dry themselves with. 

“I’ve always thought you and Jaehyun had umbrellas, Jin,” Mingi mumbles, clearly trying to tone their conversations down. Seonghwa, though, has wonderful hearing, and he’s standing right next to Ryujin, minding his own business (or pretending to). “We never needed umbrellas. Not before those pricks decided that it would be nice to fucking cut witches and wizards open,” Ryujin replies, and Mingi pats her shoulder, trying to calm her down. Her eyes snapped up to find Jongho’s. 

“You shouldn’t go back there. It’s a whole fucking bloodbath, and cleaning up their usual mess is already draining your livelihood. If you clean  _ that  _ up, you might die tomorrow, Jongho,” Ryujin states, in no condition to be disobeyed. “But we were planning to hide them there in case-” Jongho looks at his new guests, their eyes now wide in horror and confusion, mostly Hongjoong. “In case  _ they  _ can sniff them over here.”

“But you’re literally still sick,” Ryujin reasons, but seeing the absoluteness in Jongho’s eyes, turned towards Mingi instead. “Gi. I know how important finding the Treasure is to all of you, since that’s what you were born to do. And I’m glad you’ve find. . .  _ some  _ pieces of your puzzle, but please,  _ please  _ consider how bad it is for you if you managed to wake  _ the Guards of Horizon.” _

Hongjoong made a choking sound, and Seonghwa looked at Yunho for guidance. The younger has no clue as much as he does, so he looks back between Mingi and Ryujin. 

“What is he supposed to consider?” Seonghwa frowns, and Ryujin looks behind her in disbelief. “The Guards of Horizon,” Hongjoong beats her to it, and the man is now in a hurry. First he puts back on the jacket that was freezing him to death, and the next second he’s almost out of the door, if not for Mingi holding him by the shoulder. “Where are you going-”

“I left Yeosang and Wooyoung to wait for San before they would catch up to us. It’s Yeosang, Wooyoung,  _ and  _ San, and all they know is Jongho living in the prayer sanctuary. If they get there before I manage to stop them from going inside, we  _ are  _ going to wake up the Guards of Horizon. It’ll be a fucking disaster,” Hongjoong vents, sounding like he’s out of breath, and Seonghwa is still looking at him like he doesn’t make any sense.

Ryujin wants to cry. “Uhm, Mister. . . Hongjoong? Am I correct?” she approaches the older, tapping at his shoulder. Hongjoong, trying to retain his entire lesson on manners, stops squirming under Mingi’s hold. “Yes,” he nods, still determined to go outside. “If you and your friends wake up the Guards of Horizon and the entire world is going to be affected by their wrath again, I am going to cut  _ you  _ and your  _ other self  _ into pieces, do you get me?” Ryujin pulls at his collar, and Hongjoong leans backward to avoid her as much as he can.

“Yes ma’am,” he replies again, and Ryujin finally releases her hold on his collar, wiping her hands on her own coat as if she’s just touched something contagious. “But,” she sighs, “if they were indeed, woken up, my little neighbourhood is going to be the first one they destroy. And for that, I’m going to help you stop the awakening. You stay here and communicate with your friends about everything you know, and I’m going to do my best to stop doomsday from happening. Once you are done, you are all obliged to help  _ me  _ stop the Guards of Horizon from tearing the world apart once again, is that clear enough for you or do I need to lend you some hearing aids?”

“C-clear,” came a reply from behind Hongjoong, from Yunho who is leaning away from Hongjoong’s head, which was in contact with Yunho’s chest since he is also leaning away from Ryujin’s statements. “Good,” Ryujin nods, wearing his hood back up. “Tell them every little thing, Hongjoong. Remember?” she points at the older, and he nods quickly, wanting to get this over with while Ryujin leaps out of the door and slams it shut, the sound of her footsteps hurrying back to the prayer sanctuary echoing a little before it is gone.

Hongjoong stares at the door, still shaken from the sudden confrontation, before the sound of Seonghwa chuckling behind them brought him back to his present. “Uh. . .” he scratches his head. “Do you know anything about the Guards of Horizon?”

“They’re a what?” Seonghwa grimaces, his mind already too worn out from last night’s information drop and the miracle that was San’s mark reforming themselves on the younger’s wrist. “They’re Wooyoung, San _,_ and Yeosang. . . but at least a few thousand years ago,” was Hongjoong’s reply, and this still makes little to no sense to Seonghwa. It did to Yunho, apparently, and Seonghwa is really starting to strongly hate his younger self that wanted nothing to do with the prophecy. Literally everyone is starting to understand whatever the fuck made it so dangerous to leave Wooyoung and Yeosang alone with San - but here’s Seonghwa, being Seonghwa, a normal guy with no prejudice and an open-mindedness more open than the wide sky, thinking that the worse that could happen is them fucking in weird places and be charged with public indecency, and maybe from then on they’d be kicked out of town and forced to proceed prematurely, faster than they planned. That’s _it,_ his brain isn’t developed enough for the Guard of Horizon theory. Theory?  
“You mean when they- well _we_ were the so-called founders of Utopia?” Yunho chimes in, and Seonghwa drops his forehead onto his palm, his elbow moving down to slam itself on the table resulting in a muffled thud. “Exactly. If I remember correctly, this is one of the reasons the Utopia punished them by slicing their soul in half and birthing us, subconsciously,” Hongjoong responds, and Mingi looks at Jongho, who only shrugs in defeat.

“But, Hongjoong,” Mingi leans forward on his table, and Hongjoong visibly deflates. He thought that Mingi and Jongho at  _ least  _ knew the basics over their so-called ‘history’ since they live just around (not even around, the prayer sanctuary is right across of their home!) the area where something grand happened in their past, they would know  _ some  _ things about what happened. But then again, only Hongjoong and Seonghwa is located near the Utopia, where they could - if fate lets them - have a conversation with their predecessors, and not even Seonghwa went up to the Utopia with him, so his point is, up until now, invalid. “You said ‘waking up’ the Guards of Horizon means triggering their memories because something bad. . . happened to them here, in the past?” Mingi continues, and Hongjoong nods. Seonghwa is every bit done with this conversation, and moves to retrieve his suitcase. He’s just going to do what he’s needed to do and understand nothing. It’s alright, he’ll make do.

“But if none of us remembers what happens in the past, they’re not going to even remember the trigger, right? Or are they just going to get triggered while passing by the church?”

Hongjoong tilts his head at this question, a bit uneasy. “I don’t think  _ anything  _ that is randomly similar could just set off the trigger. The other Hongjoong told me that they were together and that there were something akin to a bloody, cult-like sacrifice they were disgusted upon seeing and they somehow got too involved that one of them was hurt. . . but if it’s just them one by one, I don’t really think they’d wake up anything in them, since Wooyoung was with us in the prayer sanctuary yesterday, Mingi, remember?”

“You talked to the founders of Utopia?” Mingi raises his eyebrows, whistling. “Did you hear that, Jongho? Apparently the city people do everything we never had the chance to.”

“N-not everything,” Seonghwa chimes in from beside Hongjoong, not interested in asking his own questions but still listening to whatever intrigues him. “I don’t. . . I didn’t do my research. It was foolish of me, since there were resources that I just- ignored.”

Hongjoong hums, his left hand trying to calm Seonghwa down with a circular motion on his back. “Besides, I only managed to talk to  _ one.  _ And I didn’t climb all the way up by myself, I found a little abandoned landing place meant for people to practice their martial arts in and summoned Kim Hongjoong. Learned how to summon him from a book my. . . friend gave me. When he appeared and I got overwhelmed by emotions, I got beaten up before I learned to ask nicely,” he chuckles, and Mingi loses his shit yet again. 

“Choi San  _ knows,” _ Jongho pipes in from nowhere, absolutely not giving a fuck about how loud Mingi is being despite the fact that they were the ones who feared that their guests are going to be ‘sniffed’ if they stay in their house for a bit too long. Hongjoong looks at Jongho, concerned about how shaken the youngest looks right now. “He knows?”

Jongho nods.

“San had dreams. Visions? His ‘aunt’ brought him to the prayer sanctuary just a few days after he was shot by a corrupt soldier, though I was just there to clean the place up - she made me pray for him. I didn’t know who I was praying for, and she forgot to tell me his name, but after all the fiasco I had to go through to make up a whole prayer for him, she started telling me that his dear little nephew have been having trouble sleeping and that he’d cry all night in his sleep. I asked him what dream it was about, and why he didn’t loosen up from the moment he stepped inside the sanctuary.”

“He told us it was a dream about himself. And about ‘this place’, he said while looking around at the sanctuary. And soon after that his eyes were almost  _ red,  _ not only was it bloodshot from his excessive crying, but it also went red. I was so scared that he’s about to pass out from pain but he wasn’t doubling over in pain he was. . . he was crying. And then I helped him get back in his wheelchair for his aunt to take him back home, but then he gripped my hand and begged for me to take him to. . . somewhere, or someone. He was just asking to be freed, maybe, and at the time I thought he was possessed or something, but apparently he remembers.”

“But how did you know he shared the  _ other _ San’s memory?” Hongjoong returns the question, and the room stills before the light goes out, and then it goes back on again, and then it flickers. Jongho and Mingi look at each other, both of them rising up from their chair as quietly as possible to avoid making a sound. “We really don’t have much time,” Jongho whispers, dragging the two bags that were sitting in the background which went unnoticed by their guests. “The point is, San knows his past. The possibility that the other two also remembers theirs is pretty big, since they’re all the Guards of Horizon and they’ve all been keeping their mouth shut, right? Wasn’t that what you said?”

Seonghwa was the one who nodded first, retreating almost as soon as he did it. “Well, I mean we met San last night- but Yeosang and Wooyoung? Yes, we know little to nothing about their past.  _ Or  _ how they knew about the prophecy and the fact that they needed to go before Hongjoong said anything about it.”

Hongjoong looks at Seonghwa, face jumbled in disagreement. “I  _ did  _ ask Yeosang to come with us, Hwa.”

“Yes, but when he denied it with the reasoning of ‘I can’t leave Wooyoung all alone,’ Wooyoung told him that he could go with him and they had this little ‘I thought we  _ talked  _ about this,’ moment where they disagree and Wooyoung finally won, which brought us to this very day,” Seonghwa looks back at Jongho and Mingi, nodding solemnly. “Oh, so you mean like they didn’t want to go? I mean, I would hate being tied to a prophecy, too, if I was one of the Guards of Horizon.”

“But why  _ were  _ they named the Guards of Horizon?” Yunho ponders, balancing his water among the flickering lights and vibrating grounds of Jongho and Mingi’s home. Hongjoong’s brain gears automatically work full speed once again, though his eyes are flickering here and there in anxiety at whatever is happening to Jongho and Mingi’s home.

“Uh, long story short-  _ let’s see if I get this right.  _ Yeosang threw in an idea to his two closest friends one day, Wooyoung and San, that they should be the damage control (of the sort) among the founders of Utopia, since sometimes the adventures they go through has a little too much collateral damage with wizard Song Mingi on their side,” Hongjoong takes in a deep breath, and Mingi protested with a whine. 

“Once they started helping people who were damaged piece their life back together, people call them the Guards of Horizon, since the horizon is the line where the earth ‘meets’ the sky, and the people thought of the founders of Utopia so highly that they were called  _ the  _ sky while everyone else is the earth below. They would spend like an extra week or two to help people build their houses, arrange their rooms, feed their herd and teach their children some knowledge Yeosang had overflowing in him. But one day their little arrangement caused a fight within the eight of them, which was uh. . . definitely Hongjoong’s fault,” he clears his throat, “the other Hongjoong wanted them to spend less and less time to help other people out so they’d reach the Treasure even faster but that didn’t end well since the three is very much content with how they’re helping people out. There’s a ‘I thought this was what we set out to do, to help people!’ the line slipped in his story, I don’t really remember, but they ran away that night and came across the cult that was sacrificing people to summon  _ something,  _ and since they were fuelled by an anger directed to someone else, killed a little  _ too  _ much.”

Yunho raised an eyebrow. “Define a little too much?”

“They were making even more damages rather than fixing them. That kind of 180° change. And then-” Hongjoong stabilizes himself by hanging onto Yunho’s arms when the vibration went a  _ little  _ too potent for his liking. “And then the people started fearing the Guards of Horizon rather than loving them. Now, if we don’t have any more questions can we go help Ryujin? I would be much more calm if we can see what the fuck is going on, even though I don’t really fancy religious buildings  _ especially  _ cultish acts, and Jongho- Mingi- whoever lives in this house, what the everliving  _ fuck  _ is going on and why is this earthquake never ending?”

“It’s a sign for us to leave,” Jongho answers, opening the door to find a whole ass battlefield outside, the door to the prayer sanctuary opened wide with a bright light shining from the inside and Ryujin impaling a creature that looks like it came out of a fairytale in its guts. There're red horns coming out of the creature, and it’s able to fly with its multicoloured wings on the back of it’s ivory white body, and for a second Hongjoong almost laughs at this textbook depiction of demons. Seonghwa gasps behind him, though, and the rarity of the situation brings Hongjoong back to the present. “What is it, Hwa?”

Seonghwa rummages through his suitcase, kneeling down while Jongho and Mingi rushes to Ryujin’s side to aid her. Jaehyun is somewhere around there, too, weirdly enough with his coachmen beret still on and he’s attacking some of the creatures with whips? Who knows?

There are too many creatures outside, though, and something in Hongjoong’s guts is telling him that Wooyoung and Yeosang is already inside the sanctuary undoubtedly with San, since nothing could go wrong if it’s just two out of the three. Seonghwa is taking his sweet time dipping the only knife he has into this bottle of fluid, coloured bright purple with a scent which could just send Hongjoong into a drunken state if he’s close enough to sniff it a bit more. He wasn't though, so he stood aside, watching Seonghwa until the older man lifted his right hand and raised them towards Hongjoong. “What?”

“Your weapon, Hongjoong,” Seonghwa insists. “I’ve read from your unoccupied books that those horned creatures are only prone to one thing, and that is my Crescent flowers. I read that book and saw that illustration when I first met you and let my parents patch you up, and I’ve been scarred mentally over those things ever since that day. That’s why I grew Crescent flowers in my garden,” the older continues, his voice clearly shaking. “The juice of these flowers are poisonous to them, for some unknown reason - and other than that the  _ venandi  _ can only be killed with a stab right through the heart-” Hongjoong can hear Ryujin ramming into another creature’s heart right at this moment “-so lathering your weapon with it helps a lot. Though I can’t guarantee how fast it’ll react.”

“I didn’t know the  _ venandi  _ scares you, Seonghwa,” Hongjoong concludes, and Seonghwa rolls his eyes in annoyance. How was that the only thing Hongjoong obtained from the whole speech he just delivered?

“Thank you, by the way!” Hongjoong adds before shooting up and running. Seonghwa smiles to himself, unsure that he is at all needed in a battlefield but decides to follow along, taking a few steps at a time to make sure he isn’t noticed by both fellow and enemy.

Hongjoong is sending himself flying, a jump to the nearest  _ venandi  _ he’s able to land his eyes on apparently is the one standing right in front of the prayer sanctuary’s doors, keeping it covered while Hongjoong is able to catch disturbing noises coming from the inside. He’s not too fond of the image of Wooyoung being tortured and Yeosang wailing on top of his lungs, but as long as the memory isn’t triggered yet, Hongjoong still finds it in him to be grateful. He doesn’t know why or how they managed to push Ryujin away from the door and went inside of the sanctuary anyway,  _ maybe  _ opting to not trust her even though both Yeosang and Wooyoung saw the rest of their friends leave  _ with  _ her - or why he’s hearing both Wooyoung and Yeosang but no sign of San anywhere, but his train of thoughts was cut short.

The  _ venandi  _ he was sitting atop of was previously as still as a statue, only a few more humans taller than Hongjoong with teeth as sharp as sharks, but a few rows multiplied and a sharp horn that would cut his back if the  _ venandi  _ moved, even if only the slightest bit. This left him with no choice but to swing himself backwards when it moved its head again, and panic coursed through his body when he came eye to eye with its opened mouth, and within five short seconds, his entire textbook flashed before his eyes.

A  _ venandi  _ only shows up when they are summoned, and to summon each and every one - a human’s life needs to be disposed of in return. How much humans did they kill to achieve an entire cavalry?

Hongjoong releases his grip on the  _ venandi _ ’s head before he can swing inside the monster’s jaw, and on his way down to meet the ground, he was met instead by one of it’s claw, punching him in the guts and sending him flying across the ground, his back hitting yet another  _ venandi  _ who had his limbs opened, waiting for the flying human to fall onto its lap. Once Hongjoong’s back hits the other monster’s torso, its limbs come flying on top of him to secure an air-stopping lock around his neck, and Hongjoong heaves in anxiety. The  _ venandi’ _ s limbs are like two gigantic lobsters, coloured almost the same way - and they’re gripping even harder around Hongjoong’s neck. He heard Seonghwa yell his name before a loud, shell-cracking noise came from above him, and the point of a spear broke through the  _ venandi _ ’s torso. It wailed in pain, letting its hold on Hongjoong go and giving him some time to retrieve his sword and charge back to the one in front of the doors.

It saw him, and mirrored what Hongjoong was doing. It ran over to Hongjoong while he ran over to it, and a few inches before its limb collided with Hongjoong’s front, Hongjoong threw his arms around its limb and spears the sword through the creature’s skin. For a second, Hongjoong’s entire body was numbed from the pain of coming in contact with the creature’s limb that was  _ meant  _ to hit him and send him flying. He ran straight forward into that and even held on to the limb that was about to be weaponized against him, and stabbed it with his poisoned weapon instead.

The creature stopped, and Hongjoong is about to congratulate Seonghwa on his theory (not actually theory, just facts that he remembered) when a whole new kind of pain seared through his body when he tries to lift his neck up from the creature’s limb that was acting like a cantilever for his  _ probably  _ broken bones. It felt like little tendrils of thunder, hitting every single cell in his body and stripping him off of his entire self-control. It felt like this morning, when he saw San and knew what exactly he planned on saying to the young man, and it felt almost exactly like when he told Hongjoong that he plans on going with them. It felt like that, but why is this one painful?

Hongjoong groans and drops to the ground as if he’s dead, his sword falls down right beside him unceremoniously. Seonghwa signalled to both Jongho and Mingi to just get inside the sanctuary, but when they saw the  _ venandi  _ drop like a stoic statue on top of a very much in pain Hongjoong, they opted to run to him, too. 

By now, Seonghwa was all kinds of shrieking when Yunho got to Hongjoong’s side first, groaning while trying to move the unmoving creature off of Hongjoong’s body. Mingi got there second, as quickly as he could, to Yunho’s aid with Jongho last before the gigantic monster was finally able to roll over, and by then Seonghwa came crashing down to Hongjoong’s side. 

“Shit,” Yunho mutters, looking at the now-opened door to the sanctuary, then back at Hongjoong. “His insides must be black and blue.”

Mingi hums, unable to look at Hongjoong. “He basically ran over to that collision.”

Seonghwa composes himself enough to not sound like he’s sobbing, even though tear-stained cheeks are enough proof that he is not calm and composed. “We’re going to be fine. J-just go in there, help as much as you can. If you’re in dire need of help, call out to me, I’ll patch him up as well as I can.”

Jongho looks between the two taller men, unmoving.

“Go! Before they summon more of  _ these  _ and we’ll need to sacrifice more people to save some of our people,” Seonghwa repeats, already rummaging through his suitcase to find whatever it is he could pull to save Hongjoong.

Ryujin skips to their side, pushing Mingi and Yunho in the direction of the sanctuary. “Go. I’ll help out over here. And there, if you really need me after a while. Make sure to leave someone near the door so even if you’re under attack, you’ll be able to send us signals.”

Mingi grabs Jongho, catching up on Yunho - who was already on his way. 

Jongho took one last look at the unmoving Hongjoong, his eyes on the verge of tears and his heart unclenching and clenching in the most uncomfortable way he’s ever experienced.


	7. WAVE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The old meets the new, and then everything resets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *thesaurum venari: treasure hunt.  
> .  
> .  
> Bear with me for a moment, alright, I know there's no particular action in this chapter that is like. . . mind blowing, but this chapter is very much needed. And I'm sorry for the sporadic update schedules - I'm going through mid-terms. So. But I'm halfway done with the next chapter as we speak, so, stay-fucking-tuned, darlings. Mwah.  
> .  
> .  
> Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence - ish.

Yeosang is mortified.

For all the years he’s known Wooyoung, (and to his defense, it has been a long time) he’s never heard the younger shriek from this much pain. San, who was their new acquaintance, is lying on his back only a few feet away from Yeosang, out like a blown candle since his head came in contact with the. . .  _ thing.  _

Yeosang’s not dumb - he knows exactly what the monster that caught them was, since the billions of books that are stored for infinity in his libraries back at home explains in details what kind of creatures erupt from the depths of hell, also known as the things that protect the Treasure. Yeosang didn’t learn about them because he was interested in knowing how to get to the Treasure, he was learning them because Wooyoung was interested in other worldly creatures, claiming that it was unfair that they were created to be just them and those other creatures get to have special, cool (though this was a direct quote from Wooyoung) features that would allow them to protect something in their lives.

But right now, all the flashes of memories that seemed like they’re slapping themselves on his face from the sudden and unwanted summoning of his memories fall deaf as his eyes take in Wooyoung’s features.

The younger’s hair is parted, some of them sticking on his forehead from sweat and a mixture of almost dried blood also tainting the tails of his pale-coloured locks. His eyes are scrunched close as an attempt to block out the pain he’s currently experiencing, his head slamming over and over again onto the concrete bedding he’s put on, and Yeosang’s eyes drift away to the people that are surrounding Wooyoung. There are other distractions in the room, but for the time being he’s focused on these. . . things.

He’s seen the  _ venandi  _ outside, the monster with horns almost bigger and longer than both of his legs combined with colours ranging from red to the very washed-out pink on top of its thorn - sporting the exact same combination on their shells and wings. There’s nothing in this world that could’ve prepared him for the shock of seeing a real life illustration of all the drawings his books have tried to describe about a  _ venandi,  _ since apparently the real thing is far worse than his worst nightmares. Maybe even scarier, since San passed out almost right away after seeing one appear in front of them and Yeosang won’t take San for a weak ass coward who doesn’t know how to act. How in the world does he manage to stay out like a light during all this, including Wooyoung’s screaming - Yeosang has no idea.

Back to the things that are surrounding Wooyoung, though, they look human.

Almost as human as you and me, aside from the fact that they’re almost. . . translucent. Yeosang’s never believed in ghosts neither will he fight for the absolute answer that they don’t exist, but if these are what ghosts look like, he’s not afraid. They look weirdly familiar, though there’s no face whatsoever that Yeosang can indulge himself in.

One of them is even trying their best to stop Wooyoung from banging his own head against the wall, but failing miserably since Wooyoung either can’t see them or is too indulged in the pain to notice anything around him. Speaking of which, no, the ghost-like creatures aren’t the ones causing Wooyoung pain. There are people doing so instead, dressed in majestic robes and a very tall hat sitting on top of their heads, shaped like a cone adorned in diamonds and shades of gold, and Yeosang feels sick.

“STOP! Please!” he tries once again, only for his throat to strain after the uncountable times he’s tried to plead accompanied by the shaking on his shoulder from the two men that are holding him down since a few minutes ago. His shoulder is probably close to dislocating by now, but Yeosang doesn’t know what to do. 

There are countless scenarios where he could break free and save at least one among his two partners, but leaving one behind is not a decision Yeosang is allowed to make. He won’t allow himself.

After he screamed, though, albeit only trying, the things that were surrounding Wooyoung looked over at him, and now Yeosang has a clear view on the ghost-like creatures’ eyes since the rest of their face is covered with masks and littered with chains. They’re the only ones that ever-so-slightly flinched from Yeosang’s voice, because the humans that are  _ still  _ drilling into Wooyoung’s mark of the compass is unbothered, save for one old man who is smiling creepily back at Yeosang’s worn out face.

“What do you need, young man?” he chimes, overly too kind it came across as almost mocking. Coincidentally, Wooyoung groaned so much it sounded close enough to a roar that Yeosang’s heart clenched before he wills himself to be let go from the two men holding him by the arms, at least a little so he can talk freely without wincing in pain. “Please fucking stop. I don't know what you want- or what you need, or who even are you, but my friend has never done anything to you and it’s only right for you to  _ not  _ torture him this way, I-  _ fuck,”  _ Yeosang stutters to a stop, an unfamiliar and foreign pain soaring through his wrist and it bothered his train of thoughts for a second just enough to make him turn around, see his own hand.

It’s bleeding.

Only bleeding is good enough for Yeosang, since he’s been through a lot of that during their times together. But there’s a hole forming on his hands, and he can’t seem to make himself figure out how the fuck does Wooyoung’s wounds translates almost immediately onto his skin - but if they have some kind of otherworldly connections, they’re all going to be hurt if Yeosang doesn’t stop this right now. And screw all deities up above and down below since his wrist hurts so fucking bad, but he’s filing a complain about his life. Definitely.

Yeosang snaps his head back, looking at the  _ supposed  _ cult-leaders, since what the fuck were they doing in a ‘prayer sanctuary’ waiting for human offerings to drill into if they’re not?

But his venom-laced complaint was cut short by the appearance of a translucent being in front of him, looking directly in his eyes, and for the first time in forever Yeosang pays attention to every single detail in this oddly familiar creature’s eyes before he gasps. Its mask, that was covering its mouth slightly moved, and Yeosang finds himself craning his neck to lean in closer if not for the sudden rogue stop caused by the pain in his wrist. “Shit,” he curses, only to be brought back into focus by the creature in front of him. He further notices that he’s only coloured black and white (since when did Yeosang begin to refer to him as a ‘he’?) but the movement is getting more and more frantic as the creature reaches out with his two hands, and then they come in contact with Yeosang’s shoulder.

He passes out.

It’s not only passing out from fatigue, from his body shutting down because it refuses to further give access for himself to feel pain. It felt like he’s falling down a tunnel, and he briefly remembered a book he’s read in the library about a fictional children’s story about a girl falling into a rabbit hole towards the wonderland, but that quickly escaped from his memory as far as it appeared when the feeling of dread settled in his guts and his stomach clenches from how far he’s been falling, and onto what. There’s nothing but darkness settling around him, and Yeosang gurgles as if he’s drowning as his limbs fight something he felt creeping up against him in the darkness, appearing to be nothing but his own anxiety catching up to him. There’s only nothing, nothing, and more nothingness as he continues his surge in a downward spiral, and the light that came from above scared the shit out of him since he can see his body floating all the way up there, appearing smaller and smaller as he fell out of its surrounding area.

What the fuck happened to him? Is he a spirit now? No, it must be him hallucinating all of this, since there’s no fucking way he’s dead, he can’t die like that, they haven’t made it into the-

“Yeosang!”   
And he’s suddenly standing on both of his feet, back up there with his sanity on the floor of the prayer sanctuary, but all the way at front. He’s looking right at the scene that is unfolding in front of him, Wooyoung’s back facing him as the younger experiences convulsions. San’s back is also facing him, but the younger is still in his state of peaceful slumber. Though the men that were drilling into Wooyoung’s mark of the compass with the aim of breaking it off of him have now stopped, looking up at the younger’s face in shock with all of their hands raised in the air.

Then Yeosang sees  _ himself,  _ well, his body maybe? Floating in mid-air in the middle of the two men that were supposed to be holding onto his arms, both of their necks dislocated and pulled into uncomfortable angles with fresh warm red blood flooding out of the holes where their necks were supposed to be connected. Yeosang’s -  _ his  _ \- fingers are painted red, some of them on their way to drying and his head twitching weirdly.

His eyes are shining, like the two lightbulbs, and there’s no telling if he actually has eyeballs or not from this far since they’re just shining.

“Yeosang!” the voice calls again, and by now Yeosang is unfazed enough to let his eyes leave the scenery in front of him to focus on how unrealistic the echo that voice has only to realize it belongs to San.

He turns around as fast as his neck allows him to, since everything feels and looks like they’re five times slower in this. . . reality, wherever he is at the moment. His eyes came in contact with San, and he gapes. Yeosang’s lips opened, and then closed, and then opened again only for him to decide that it’s better to not say anything. He runs his hands through his hair instead, concluding with settling them on his eyes while sighing in frustration, shaking his head as if doing so would wake him up from whatever nightmare this is. “What the fuck is happening-” he said, only to be cut short when his own mind registers the fact that they aren’t alone in the new reality they’ve managed to get into. There are other people behind San, rendering Yeosang to shame even though previously he was about to lounge onto the other for a hug since he’s not doing really good right now, mentally. Yeosang still thinks he’s losing his mind right now.

It’s the ghost-like creatures he’s seen before this entire fiasco, when he could still feel his arms intact to its body. But they're less translucent now and a little more opaque - obviously, since Yeosang himself is as translucent as they seemed to be from the outside right now. But why is he experiencing this out-of-body experience, he wonders.

“Continuing on,” one of them states, and both Yeosang and San’s eyes drift towards the group of people. The difference is, San curtly nods with a quiet ‘Yes, Sir. Go ahead,’ while this happens and Yeosang is freaking out instead since this is his first time seeing the creatures without the cover of their masks and hats, facing his direction. The one talking looks awfully lot like Hongjoong, and his stomach churns in uncomfortable anticipation triggered by his memory of the fact that they still need to get to Hongjoong. Who knows what the older is doing right now, since - this, in front of him - isn’t Hongjoong. . . is it?

“How many months has it been since he last met me?” the  _ Hongjoong  _ continues, and Yeosang finds it in him to just listen. They’re exuding an aura he’s not very keen on challenging, especially since he’s spotted a version of himself lounging in the corner, their eyes frozen to see the body Yeosang left behind. In a short moment of dizziness, he mentally scolds himself for counting how many ‘Yeosang’ is in the room, resulting in the answer of three. There’s three of him right now, in this moment and time, in this room. “Excuse me?” Hongjoong asks again, featured with a bit of a cold tinge this time and Yeosang hears San scrambling to an answer he himself is unsure of.

“Does this one not have a clue, either?” Hongjoong continues after San’s answer fell deaf for Yeosang’s ears, but since he’s already predicted beforehand that this question is going to be headed towards him, Yeosang snaps from his self-admiring moment to look at Hongjoong to show the older that he’s listening.

He can’t help but cower a little, though.

Their Hongjoong, their lovely little prince that they all rely on and is almost too selfless for his own good is soft; strict, but soft nonetheless like an actual loving mother who will never hurt you even though they’re trying their best to not choke you to death since you’ve wasted all of their time and energy on not eating their best homemade dish. This Hongjoong, however, even when Yeosang is prepared with the knowledge that this is all supposed to be one and the same - them with these people and these people with them - is vastly different. Looking into the eyes of this man, he looks rough, commanding and a bit too prominently dominant that the other seven just falls behind him even though he doesn’t tower over them in terms of height. He lacks the kindness and patience their Hongjoong has, and looking at this slightly older man right now, Yeosang understands the primal urge of needing to plant a punch onto his face even though he deems violence to not be necessary on a day to day basis. Yeosang looks at San instead, not wanting to be ticked off.

“Forgive my unawareness, I just got here,” Yeosang bites, though his eyes are roaming places. “If it doesn’t offend Your Excellence in the slightest, may I hear a replay of the question?”

The Hongjoong chuckles, though dark and bitter. Yeosang is right, he’s a little hard to come around. But it’s definitely more than okay, Yeosang can work with that. He’s been working with a lot, recently, and here he is, head and brain still intact even though in some days he’s really tempted to rip them all out.

“I asked this man how long have you all been together for, and he doesn’t have a clue. Even when you’ve managed to be foolish enough to wake the Guards of Horizon once again- how did you accomplish this much of a fuck-up, once again?” the older man asks, and if not for Yeosang’s good intuition and the fact that he’s raised hell-bent on following manners, he would’ve strut away from that fucking place and leave his body in spirit form as of now, consequences be damned.

“Forgive us for fucking up something that was equally as fucked-up before, but I believe we all shared a body, once,” Yeosang narrows his eyes, “except that mine is right now. . . floating in mid-air, killing people with San and Wooyoung’s.”

And then the young prince looks back at the dark-attired men in front of himself and San, showing them his immaculate yet awkwardly formed smile. “But we’ve been together for more or less a year now, counting from the time me and Wooyoung was invited by sir  _ younger  _ Hongjoong himself. He was already spending a few weeks on his way to my kingdom with Seonghwa, back then, but I assume you’d remember, good Sir. You were the one he came to for advice, yes? And he still has yet to share any of them to us, what a nice little lad. Speaking of, this one,” Yeosang appointed his index finger at San, and then the other San across from them, “and these ones,” he now points over towards Mingi and Jongho, lounging with the other version of himself in the corner, “are new recruits. At least  _ our  _ new recruits. Fresh from the oven, delivered yesterday. . . evening. I haven’t even met those ones yet, Mingi and Jongho, I mean - since I’ve been too cooped up on delivering this one and making sure he doesn’t have any dents which led us up here, as you all see. Right in front of you.”

“Speaking of,” Yeosang takes in a deep breath, calming himself from the sudden information-vomit he performed only seconds ago. “Why are you here, I wonder?”

San spared him a glance, Yeosang can feel it in his bones since his eyes are now performing wonders and he can literally see every nook and cranny in this entire prayer-sanctuary in high definition without having to squint. He wonders for a while if he’s the only one who can do that or if the injection on Wooyoung’s wrist - that transformed itself onto  _ his  _ wrist, too, was filled with drugs and that he is now high of something. . . anything. 

“I have just told you before when you were pathetically screaming in the hold of those two weak men as if you can’t do anything to them unless you turn super-saiyan,” he looks up now to see the other Yeosang approaching, hands behind his back. He doesn’t look that different, still the same vacant eyes and furrowed brows in constant confusion. “We have  _ always  _ been here.”

Yeosang chuckles, wondering briefly why none of these men stepped closer to them since the conversation is getting a little heated. Maybe there’s a barrier of some sort?   
“What kind of bullshit is that? You’ve always been here- You know what you sound like? It’s as if you’re my deceased father talking to me from the far and great beyond using clouds to project your face to me just to remind me of my past and who I should become because I ran away from home after being accused of murdering you when my uncle murdered you instead to take over your throne as King,” he mumbles, trying his best to rant without facing the consequences which is having to explain himself and his weird antics. Even San is back to looking at him weirdly, as if assessing what the fuck just came out of Yeosang’s mouth. 

“It’s not bullshit, Kang Yeosang. Your friend San has been communicating with his counterpart for years, teetering on the line of believing his dreams and the fact that the prophecy is real or burying them in the depths of his lackadaisical memory since his day to day life is way too hard of a burden for him. And your childhood best friend Wooyoung is the way he is because  _ this  _ Wooyoung,” the other Yeosang stops, turning around to point at the Wooyoung that is standing beside him that is definitely older than the Wooyoung we all know and love, “fucked up one time when the kid was too young to know his own name and what’s wrong and right and just fucking showed up from the kid’s closet like Casper the fucking friendly ghost-”

“It was the fucking library, Sang, what kind of pervert are you making me into?” the other Wooyoung chirped in self-defense, and Yeosang is taken aback by the maturity and lack of childhood the voice holds despite the fact that it is physically a lot deeper than the Wooyoung he is used to hearing. “Why does it matter, you shocked the little one and it was the most traumatic moment of his life! That’s why he’s incapable of doing things without Yeosang, now- god fucking  _ dammit  _ it’s weird to use my own name like that,” the other Yeosang retaliates, letting a shiver run up his own spine at the last few words.

(The younger versions of) Yeosang and San stood still, looking obediently at their older versions wrecking havoc genuinely from a single unanswered question one of them uttered. 

“Anyways my point being,” the Yeosang continues, flailing his arm around as if everyone else’s opinions don’t really matter. “Two out of three of the Guards of Horizon have been getting in contact with us ever since they were birthed into this world. Now  _ I  _ was getting a little worried-” “A lot,” the other Seonghwa chimes in, chuckling, “he’s always a lot worried.”

“Fine, a lot. Seonghwa this is not your moment right now, get the fuck out,” and the former continues, looking back at Yeosang and San. “I was getting worried in general since you. . . you’ve never paid me any attention! I was doing cartwheels, as I should, in front of you since you were zoning off someday in between your 17th birthday and Wooyoung’s - but you can’t even fucking see me! Or at least, I thought you’ve been ignoring me, since that’s a little more logical.”

“Sang, just get to the fucking point, will you?” the other Hongjoong’s voice blends into their ear canals, since everything looks and sounds as if they’re bleary and blended so unless you crane your neck to hear and see things everyone will sound exactly the same as the other. “There was no point, actually. I’ve just never been allowed to talk ever since I failed to stop Wooyoung and San from scaring their other-halves, but how was that my fault? But what I don’t really understand is why only San and Wooyoung can see  _ this  _ San and Wooyoung even though we’ve always came as a trio no matter what, but now the physiques of this curse is fucking with my brain- are you getting my struggle here, Joong?”

The other Yeosang is facing the other Hongjoong right now, and apparently the older is giving him a look he can’t power over since the other Yeosang quickly retreats back to his place before he went to confront the younger Yeosang about his innermost feelings, and soon enough there’s another company by their side, screeching and whining.

It’s Wooyoung, curled up on the floor as if to avoid pain from being inflicted upon him further, and his arrival caused the other Hongjoong to raise both of his arms immediately as if giving up, backing away from the now complete trio slowly until they’re at least a few feet away from the three younger ones as if they could blow up and completely obliterate the house if they’re together. 

San kneels down, oblivious to the sudden retreatment from the large group of people once was only fifteen centimetres away from their furthest punching range at most, but Yeosang is still looking. His eyes follow every single coordinated and synchronized step that Hongjoong and all the other ones take, one at a time but enough to make a statement. Yeosang heard once that his other half was a smart alumnus, and not doubting his own brain himself, he knows that smart people aren’t all that smart at lying - especially since they really like peeling the truth for everyone to know. They don’t like staying quiet, especially when incorrect facts are thrown at them.

If Yeosang doesn’t know the slightest thing about everyone, at least he knows every little bit about himself - and why is it ever called a separation if there’s no similar factors left behind in each body as the result, is he incorrect?

He scoffs as a beginning mark.

“Rude,” he kneels down alongside San, watching as even the slightest movements set the other eight on their toes. They flinched when he moved closer to Wooyoung, and he found the other Yeosang’s lips twitching, trying to stay in control over his own words.  _ What are they hiding? _

“Are you afraid of a young man?” he continues, and by now he expects an answer. “No-” and it was given to him by Hongjoong, the man he least expected. This brings a smile onto Yeosang’s face, and if San notices this and has no clue what it’s about, he poorly hides it with his lack of acting skills that almost made Yeosang curse out loud. Of course San can’t act, his face is usually covered with a mask and a hood. He’s literally never had a need for it unless he interacts with other people who know about his career, and the chances of that are awfully thin (aside from the fact that San will never  _ ever  _ talk about Mark Lee). 

“Then why are you running away from us?”

They stop, as Yeosang predicted, and by now San is looking at the bunch accusingly.  _ Yeah,  _ it’s written clearly across San’s eyes,  _ since when did they get all the way there? _

“These are not caused by anything you are thinking, Kang Yeosang. Trust us on this one, you don’t want us nearby right now or else it’ll-” Seonghwa stops, though it shocked Yeosang when he piped into the conversation, unaware of how different this Seonghwa and their own are. Their Seonghwa doesn’t disclose informations that easily until he feels the need to stop himself or be stopped by anyone, since he has little to no clue of whatever is going on most of the times and he tags along only because he’s got the basic skills on prolonging their deaths (if it was ever allowed. Their deaths, I mean). This Seonghwa seems like he’s as knowledgeable as their own Hongjoong, checking right in with the fact that their Hongjoong told everyone that the other Seonghwa is in fact another smart alumnus verified by his entire nation beforehand. Rumour has it that the old Yeosang and Seonghwa are at least familiar with each other before the  _ thesaurum venari;  _ but Yeosang’s too much drowned in his current plan to care.

“It’ll what?” Yeosang taunts, and San’s eyes left the bunch to look at him instead. “It’ll trigger something in him?” was his first guest, and by now San’s eyes are as big as saucers as the eight other men look at each other while some discussions about the matter begin to spill from their previously shut mouths, clearly not able to see where Yeosang is headed yet. The younger’s arms are curled around Wooyoung, who is still crying even though he isn’t physically in pain anymore. At least, San hopes. He turns around as Yeosang continues his blabbering fight with the others to see what kind of mess they’ve left behind - the exact mess he has been dreaming about, over and over again.

San has never succeeded in getting the faces of all the others, since his dreams are always short and he keeps on forgetting about them the next morning, but once he takes another look at the view that is unfolded in front of him, there’s no denying it. The dreams he’s had are visions, and the visions always led to this moment if his ‘other’ self didn’t step in to stop the dreams from continuing. Why must he always be stopped, though?   
He looks up at their bodies that are now vacant of themselves - or is it? San has never been one to believe in souls and how they’ll leave your body when you die even though his adoptive parents have been very keen on teaching him the teachings of the Lord (in italic, supposedly but I’m too lazy to fix that) but whatever it is that is standing in front of him seem validly ‘soulless’ enough. It’s San’s body, looking down at him with empty glowing eyes that are bright to the point that its light shed on his hairstreaks, making them ten times more vibrant than usual. He’s positioned in the middle as Yeosang and Wooyoung’s bodies levitate by its left and right like their previous situation when they were walking in the woods until San blacked out - for some odd reason. The two are in the same situation his body is in and San continues to look in awe until human hands encircled themselves from behind their levitating bodies. 

San is in too much shock to react when he sees  _ himself,  _ his physical limbs that were gripped by the human hands lift themselves upwards before it rams back down on the stranger’s upper limb, loud enough to form a cracking noise even San himself flinched upon hearing. The men who were trying to take them were the men that had been drilling into Wooyoung’s wrist which hurts all of them in lieu of their plan on only hurting Wooyoung - and apparently that’s why they stopped. San saw all of these since he was already ‘unconscious’ long before Wooyoung accompanied by Yeosang, yet he still doesn’t see why they’re floating in mid-consciousness with their other-halves when they were supposed to meet the rest and continue on with their treasure hunting. It has been fun, definitely, but they don’t have all day to dwell with their other-halves forever, and right now his body that is glowing from the inside is starting to hurt people!  _ And  _ it looks like their glowing bodies are right now at least a few times stronger than their normal selves are, since how the fuck is he able to break a man’s arm in half in just one swing of his upper arms?   
“Okay! Listen, all right?!” the other Hongjoong regains San’s attention, and he realizes that Wooyoung is convulsing in his hold, Yeosang still looking straight into the other one’s Captain, determined to dig it out of him. The glowing Wooyoung is convulsing in mid-air, too, and San is a little past worried to be listening to anyone right now, but it’s not like he has any choice.

The other Hongjoong pulls his sleeves all the way up, revealing their mark of the compass. It’s glowing subtly, but this triggered San and Yeosang to check theirs immediately, noting that theirs shines a tad brighter than Hongjoong’s.

“That,” Hongjoong continues, “the mark of the compasses. I told Hongj- the other one, the kid. I told him to avoid this fucking sanctuary at all costs since the three of you had very bad falling out with the village people in this place since they were a bit too. . . cult-ish, and you hated the fact that they’ve been torturing witches and wizards in this place. Not all of them are that way, of course, but you three, back then. . . passed by this sanctuary thinking it’s a regular church, went in despite the weird man looking at you up and down at the door and witnessed some blood sacrifice being made to summon a  _ venandi.  _ They would take innocent poor men and women out of their luck and use their blood to summon the blood-thirsty  _ venandi,  _ since that’s the only way you can summon them - I’m sure you’ve learned that, yes? And  _ venandis  _ can usually only be overpowered by witches and wizards, so even though they’d hate to die and be exposed into the world they were forced to expose their identities to protect their own home.”

“Apparently the people in the supposed cult recognized the three of you and hurt Wooyoung, too, in the process that one among the last two was enraged and it apparently, uh. . . was contagious? And all of you were enraged at the end and it caused more damage than good since the three of you chased every single one of the cult members down and ruined villages, and. . . things. And the worst part was the fact that it didn’t even work since the cult still exists until now, and that’s why I warned the kid to not bring you here but I guess. . .” the other Hongjoong looks out of breath explaining the whole situation, “I guess it is a must.”   
“They chained us down until we calmed down with the fucking compass mark, by the way. There is no solution out of this whatsoever, especially since it’s happening again and we didn’t even know how making a fucking seal on our wrists calmed us down from our need to, uh, destroy,” the other San adds, sensing that Hongjoong is guilt-tripping himself into not continuing with his speech. “So this is  _ your  _ idea? This is not the curse what-so-fucking ever?” Yeosang frowns, accusingly pointing at the other ones. The other San shrugs, snorting while simultaneously pulling a funny face at Hongjoong. “Have I not told you before that the kids these days won’t like a compass so fucking big placed on their hands?”

“Screw right the fuck off. I didn’t know the Utopia would be so mad that I’m putting some of you under discipline. You killed half of the villagers!” the other Hongjoong picks up a fight that was better left alone. “She wasn’t mad because  _ some of us  _ killed half the villagers,  _ hyung!  _ She was enraged because an argument we all had led to a point where some of us disagreed and ran away with no intention of coming back, supposedly, triggered something we never knew could fucking happen, and is sealed down to normality with the power they bestowed upon us! Something that wasn't supposed to be used on each other. I thought after all these fucking years, that could go through your thick skull?” the other San retaliates, and his other-half stops himself from snickering since the other is calling Hongjoong ‘hyung’ out of formality. None of them remembered to do any of that on a daily basis.

“Then what was the power to make the ‘seal’ for, if not to make this damned tattoo?” Yeosang further questions, and the other San dramatically whispered an ‘How would we ever know? We’re stuck as the founders of Utopia!’ in his trial to not further piss off the older Captain, that is until their marks flickered like an ambulance’s siren on their way to fully functioning. 

“Are your other friends around?” the other Hongjoong inquires, looking like he’s halfway to passing out for some odd, other worldly reason. Yeosang shrugs, looking back at the scene he never got a chance to see - which is San’s glowing clawing his fingers through two men consecutively, one of their faces ripped open with an eyeball dangling from its skin inside and the other’s guts overflowing around San’s feet, painting his pants a warm shade of red, and then there’s Yeosang’s version of this glowing body, who is bashing someone’s head repeatedly against a wall, seemingly someone important since a pile of dying meat that was once a man is still hanging by Yeosang’s feet to beg him mercy for this so-called important person only for Yeosang to step on his cracked open skull with a squelch before continuing his head-bashing ministrations. Wooyoung is halfway onto jumping on someone, a man who is debatably young enough to be fooled into this cult especially with the promise of seeing the rise of the Guards of Horizon, and the youngest among the three lands on top of the scared young man before he smiles with all his teeth, and for a second he looks like stray big cat trying to eat dinner until he does exactly that. His teeth sunk into the man’s left shoulder, teeth entangled in his shoulder blade as he tries to pull away for a moment and the man trashes around, trying to wiggle free from Wooyoung’s hold as his pleas to stop the pain searing through his body echoes in the room and Wooyoung takes the man’s screams as a chance to choke him with his fists. Obviously enough, Wooyoung’s fist doesn’t fit the man’s mouth, so even if he tries to ever-so-gently shove his entire arm down the man’s throat, he’s going to rip the man’s jaw apart. And no, Wooyoung didn’t do it as gently as we wished he would’ve.

Yeosang curses out loud, momentarily alerting his glowing body since it stopped bashing the formless body onto the wall to look straight at Yeosang’s direction - though no one knows where the awoken Guards of Horizon are looking since their eyes looks only like two, round light-bulbs jotting out of their skulls and it freaked Yeosang out of his mind. Right then and there, though, the door bursts open - as in it unhinged from its hinges and it fell like two useless planks as if they’re not a few kilograms heavy, and Mingi struts in through the door followed by Jongho and Yunho, and Yeosang can’t help his happy yelp of the sight.

“No!” There are voices behind him though, and both him and San are forced to look back to the other ones, shaking their heads in panic and their anxiety wafting over to their nostrils, and now they can smell it as clear as day. “What?!” San blurts out for once, the disagreement on the other ones’ faces clearly contagious. “Too many! We can’t be this close!” was what came out of the other Hongjoong’s mouth, though he seems glad about something. Too many what? Too many of  _ them? _

“We were fine before this, okay? And the eight of you plus three of us was a lot!” Yeosang replies, following only his hunch that this was about their numbers and their close proximity. “But all of us at the same time are against her wishes! We can not- '' the other Hongjoong froze, his eyes focused on the entry of the building, where Seonghwa walked in with the younger Hongjoong in his arms, passed out and bandaged up to his neck, his cheeks black and blue and his hands twitching. The other Hongjoong finds his hands following suit, and he’s back to freaking out.

Yeosang looks at the entrance and at his friends’ shocked faces since they aren’t capable of seeing the other ones  _ and  _ the trio, they’re just looking at Yeosang, San and Wooyoung’s glowing bodies covered in dried blood and every single dead men in there, face smashed and mostly deformed into little pieces of meat. Jongho doubles over to empty his stomach, and just as Yeosang looks back to the other ones, he feels himself pulled somewhere at the same time someone’s entire body collides with his front.

And then everything went back to black.


End file.
